Abducted
by Jennifer Lynn Weston
Summary: Series sequel to 'Jack To The Future'. In the 21st century, Jack and James discover that somebody finds them of great interest. And not in any good way. PG for some harsh language and disturbing events. Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney.

---

Norrington had not expected travel aboard a commercial airline- even in first class- to include all the amenities of a private jet. And he was correct. The available space was much reduced (though still sufficient to allow a private conversation), and the window was barely half as large.

Not that he truly minded. The outside view was still interesting, if somewhat monotonous. A dense overcast, seen from above, resembled nothing so much as a vast, gently mounded snow field, with nary a tree or footprint marring it's whiteness. James stared out until something intruded on his peripheral vision; a lean brown hand, clutching a largish envelope stuffed with paper slips.

"Feel free ta look 'em over. I managed ta snag admission to all yer most-desired events. 'Even got one fer the wrestling. I figured you might like to watch the classic version for a change."

"Thank you again, Jack." Norrington grinned with anticipation as he thumbed through the tickets. He'd recently completed his training at the United States Coast Guard Academy; in two weeks he'd take his Service Oath, and begin his new job in their Investigative Services division. Jack had long since made arrangements for them to spend this last free interval attending the Summer Olympics.

"I must really be looking forward to this- I don't even mind the prospect of having you alongside. No doubt making numerous non-performance-related observations about the women athletes."

"That was yer own choice, Mr. Norrington" Sparrow reminded, taking another swallow from a miniature rum bottle. "You know you had the option of asking the fetching Meredith Chaucer to accompany you instead."

That name made James' lips curl once more, but he shook his head. "It wouldn't have been appropriate. Ms Chaucer and I aren't sufficiently well-acquainted for me to invite her on an extended trip."

Jack rolled his eyes in near-despair. "Hells bells, James- you've been acquainted for over two years!"

"And I've been obliged to spent most of those years giving the bulk of my attention to Academy courses." James handed the envelope back to Sparrow. "We've had a few weekend visits, when Meredith had business in New York and 'hopped the Sound' to see me. But I can't forget my special circumstances. I'd have to know a woman well enough to tell her something about my actual life history, before I could consider..."

"Have you made any progress whatsoever with the lass?"

James frowned at the interruption. "I enjoy her company very much, I certainly care about her, and there's strong indications that attitude is mutual. But what you would consider 'progress'..."

"... is still to come, of course. A good Quaker lad waits 'til after the 'I Dos'. Or at least the engagement announcement." Jack carefully slipped the precious tickets into his purple carry-on bag. "At the very least, James; have you any notion whether either of those events might someday come to pass?"

"Of course they might. Just not in the near future. Meredith is in no 'rush to the alter', as they say. She's made a point of informing me, she asked about my maternal status on that lubber cruise because she thought I might be worth getting to know. Not because she's desperately seeking a husband."

"'Tis commendable to give careful thought to such matters. But at the rate you're goin', you two may end up financin' yer weddin' with social security checks," Jack sniffed.

"That can't be helped. Even if I were so inclined, Mare is not a woman to be pushed into things."

Sparrow looked up brightly. "'Mare'? So at least you're on a one-syllable-name basis!"

James looked vaguely chagrined, as though he'd let a confidential matter slip. "We are. At Ms Chaucer's own invitation. She assures me she doesn't in the least mind being compared with a horse."

"An' why should she? That wench does resemble an equine creature, in the best possible way. Well-balanced gait, spirited demeanor, streaming red mane, high firm... hindquarters." Upon receiving That Look, Sparrow complained, "Now James, I'd have to have impaired eyesight not ta notice."

The Navyman folded arms over his leisure shirt, eyes narrowing. "You know, Pirate, if I had a remotely suspicious outlook..."

"Mr. Norrington! Do you for one millisecond imagine I have designs of a seductive nature regarding yer possibly-in-the-future betrothed?" Jack slammed a palm to his chest, looking thoroughly affronted.

James found such theatrics annoying. "I have seen you exhibit exactly that intent, towards the fiancé of a man who'd previously saved your life. And whom you had, in effect, used as currency to pay your own debt."

It was like skewering a beach ball. Jack deflated, abruptly and thoroughly, dropping his eyes in actual shame. "Not exactly my finest hour, was it?"

"Not exactly."

"But you know, it were always my intent ta retrieve young Will, and his Da, from their regrettable circumstances once I'd secured the heart. An' I never meant ta permanently deprive him of his bonnie lass. Jus' thought it'd do no harm fer Lizzie ta get one taste of carnal delights- expertly served, I might add- prior to her embarking on a lifetime of wedded bliss."

"More important, it wouldn't have done you any harm."

"I had a tentacled specter leanin' over me shoulder at that time, James. 'Seemed advisable fer me to take what I could, while I still could." Sparrow fixed a somber gaze on Norrington as he added, "You may be certain I did a full measure of forced penance fer both offenses. The chit saw to that." His jaw clenched- he'd said all he cared to on the subject.

Norrington mulled this over. Jack had never gone into detail about what had befallen Elizabeth, Will Turner and himself, between James' abrupt departure from them at Isla Cruces and the pirates' victory over Beckett's armada. But it had clearly been a stressful interval for all three; there'd been dropped hints of hard voyages and further betrayals. It took no great powers of deductive, to discern Sparrow's characterization of Liz as a 'charming murderess' originated from this interval.

But it seemed the trio's shared participation in the Battle of the Maelstrom had healed their estrangement. By the time it was over, Jack had regained his favorable standing with the freshly-wed couple, and they'd all remained on good terms 'til death did them part.

At least according to Sparrow, whose account might be true as far as it went, but was clearly incomplete. Though intensely curious about the untold parts, James knew it would be futile to make inquiries. He'd simply have to hope the ex-pirate would someday be willing to reveal the whole story.

A minute later, Jack spoke again. "There was one bit of learnin' I did carry away from that deplorable business: a brief period of pleasure is a poor swap fer decades of friendship. Ergo: I'll not be offering any stallionesque services to your fair Mare." With a wry look, he added, "Anyway, the lass'd likely refuse said offer, from what you've related of her unaccountable tastes."

James couldn't help smirking at this reminder. He'd not been able to resist passing a certain Meredith quote on to Sparrow: 'Your friend is certainly a looker, and quite charming. But I rather prefer the company of grown-ups.'

The smirk deepened. It was so gratifying to score higher than Jack in a lady's assessment, just once.

Sparrow's own expression soured. "I think that's enough wench-related discussion fer now." He settled back into the padded gray seat, tapping his own chin. "May I ask you a question, related to your granting me that one-day head start?"

The abrupt change of course- all the way back to old Port Royal- made James blink. "You may."

Jack hooked one arm behind his head, looking serious. "As that incident occurred some centuries ago, perhaps you can answer with complete frankness. Was it yer intention ta let me get away?"

This was a matter James had pondered before. "Not deliberately. I can't deny the possibility of subconscious desire... if I understand Freud's theory correctly. But I did not, and could not, knowingly let your escape. Law enforcers have no right to override legally applied sentences- it's not our place to inflict harsher penalties, or more merciful ones, than what the courts decree. If we do, it undermines the integrity of the entire justice system. Such breakdowns have potential to usher in anarchy, or totalitarianism- situations which have historically done far worse harm than the occasional unjust verdict, even the occasional unjust execution. That system, though flawed, is quite probably the best we imperfect humans can manage. Scylla rather than Charybdis, Jack."

Sparrow's face twitched. "That's one debate even I don't expect ta ever hear the end of. And I weren't meaning ta extend it now. I jus' thought, considering your leniency towards young William afterwards..."

"I will admit to having developed serious doubts you truly deserved to be executed. Consequently, I was less than completely outraged when Mr. Turner prevented it. At least at that point." Norrington looked away for a moment. He himself was still rather puzzled by his own behavior immediately following Jack's rescue from the gallows. Readily conceding to Elizabeth's declared preference for another man, extending the same magnanimity towards a fleeing pirate captain... He could only theorize he'd retreated under a mantle of impeccably gentlemanly conduct to distance himself from the double public humiliation.

But James didn't want to think on it now. He squared his shoulders, deliberately turning attention to a less complicated matter.

"There is something relevant to that matter which can now be told. I did pay a visit to your cell block, the night before your scheduled execution."

"Did you! Can't say I noticed."

"I'd been taking a stroll around the fort before retiring, when I heard your voice from the gaol, speaking with some animation. I decided that merited investigation, so I descended the stairs to the cellblock. When I peered around the corner, I saw you had at least five guards, and the dog, completely enthralled with a tall tale. You were describing a liaison you claimed to've had with a most accommodating mermaid. A Queen of the Sharks, as I recall."

Jack smiled broadly. "Ah, yes! I can't generally relate that yarn in mixed company, but it rarely fails ta captivate the lads."

"So it seemed at the time. As my men were keeping an appropriate distance from the bars, I elected not to intervene, so I lingered on the stairs to listen too. Your descriptions made me feel the yarn was happening to me- I was being propelled through blue depths, clutched against a scaly undulating form, looping amidst a vanguard of gleaming sharks with tails lashing in rhythm to..." Norrington paused, clearing his throat. "Aside from your displayed storytelling skill, I found it most intriguing that you'd chosen to spend the supposed last night of your life entertaining your captors."

"To be honest, I'd have preferred to spent it entertainin' a lass or two, at much closer quarters! But since theer were none ta be had, I considered it expeditious ta use me last chance to enhance the Jack Sparrow legend. Plus, it literally doesn't hurt if the blokes who're ta escort you to the gallows feel disinclined ta make the experience any more unpleasant than can be helped."

"You needn't have concerned yourself about that, Sparrow. Regardless of any rumors you may have heard, I have never permitted anyone under my command to mistreat prisoners. I've certainly never done so myself." James looked straight at his friend as he said this.

"I believe you, cousin," Sparrow assured. "In yer peak pirate-hunting days, 'twas said that Captain Norrington was a git ta be reckoned with; canny, formidable, damnably persistent. But not prone ta extraneous cruelties." He shrugged. "Somewhat similar to my own reputation, eh?"

"More alike than either of us wanted to admit." James almost sighed.

A pinging from the 'Fasten Seat Belt' light interrupted, followed by the captain announcing they were beginning their descent. James checked the window view, confirming the plane was tilting down towards the cottony expanse. As Norrington fastened his restraint, Jack glimpsed his watch.

"We'll be arriving with a couple hours to spare. What say you, ta patronizin' a bar or two before the games begin?"

"It might be wiser to use that interval to rest. I'd rather not watch the opening ceremonies through a jet-lag haze."

"You do that, ol' Commodore. I'll be fine on my onesies."

"Wandering off without your bodyguard? I don't think so." James' tone was not entirely facetious. He'd never forgotten the warning imparted at the 'Paris Meeting', as he privately labeled his single encounter with Mr. Murphy. He'd heard nothing from that enigmatic gentleman since, and hoped no news was good news. But he felt disinclined to take unnecessary chances. Particularly with foes he couldn't identify on sight.

"I'll try to make do with a short nap before we go out. And Jack, please do fasten your seat belt now, before one of the stewardesses starts scolding."

Sparrow obeyed with a scowl. "Bad as a mother hen," he muttered.

The airplane landed without incident. Norrington took the lead as they went through customs and security, for he knew how it chafed Jack to deal with authority figures. Sparrow wisely kept his mouth shut the whole while, even when their passport check took an unusually long time.

Finally they reported to the baggage claim, where they retrieved their luggage from the moving belt. Jack promptly yanked open his battered olive duffel, fishing out a pair of polished black shoes to exchange for his less-elegant travel loafers. Norrington suspected the thick-soled shoes had some function other than appealing to the ladies, but didn't inquire about it.

They made their way from the terminal, Jack with the duffel slung over his shoulder, James dragging the wheel-mounted suitcase. They passed out of the shiny building to the exhaust-scented concourse, where they paused, checking the tight rows of loading-zone vehicles for an available taxi. Jack was craning his neck to see around a parked bus, when he suddenly yelped.

James whirled towards to him, catching the clipped "Sorry!" a tweed-clad woman called over her shoulder as she hurried away. Jack, now kneeling to grip his left bluejean cuff, glared after the retreating figure. Specifically, at the glinting red daggers of her stiletto heels.

"The stupid wench spiked me!" he snapped. Norrington quickly escorted him to a nearby bench, where Jack pushed aside his pierced sock to check the damage. "What's she thinkin', wearin' such hazardous footgear in this crowd!?"

"It's not that bad," his companion pointed out. "The skin's barely broken- there's not enough blood to endanger your precious Berlutis." Though he spoke reassuringly, something tugged at James' memory as he eyed the grain-sized puncture wound. But before he could track it down, Jack yanked the sock back into place and stood.

"Theer ought ta be a license requirement fer wearin' those bloody things! Remind me ta apply a spot o' disinfectant later."

Jack quickly forgot the incident, as they resumed their search for transport. After a few inquiries, a uniformed grunt informed them there was a cab stand two blocks down. As they started in the indicated direction, Sparrow halted to mop his forehead. "I may have to take that nap after all, Mr. Norrington. Could be, I've developed... susceptibility ta, jet lag."

The slur in his voice jerked James' attention from the milling traffic. The ex-pirate was swaying on his feet. More than usual.

Norrington closed on him again, shifting the duffel onto his own shoulder and gripping Sparrow's elbow. "Jack, you don't look at all well."

Sparrow opened his mouth to reply, realized he had no idea what to say. Next instant, the sidewalk was rushing upwards.

He barely heard James' alarmed shout, before everything went black.

---


	2. Chapter 2

_'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney_

xxx

It was no novelty at all for nausea and headache to accompany Jack's awakenings. The sensation of coldness, particularly on his feet, was less usual. More familiar were the vague rocking, and the low, constant thrum of waves against the... wait... not water sounds...

... Engine noise!

This incongruity jolted him to almost-full consciousness. Jack's eyes flew open- were promptly assaulted by stabbing white light. The eyelids clamped tightly shut, even as he sensed something stirring near his right side.

"Jack?"

That was Norrington's voice. After a moment's struggle, the ex-pirate managed to open his left eye, just a crack. Now there was a dark shape bisecting the fierce brightness- a black silhouette of somebody looking down at him.

Controlling his fright, Sparrow croaked, "James...?"

"Yes. It's me." The tone conveyed deep relief, as a large warm hand enfolded his. "How do you feel?"

"Like I've jus' come off a three day binge... only without any precedin' agreeable mem'ries." Jack tried, vainly, to make out Norrington's facial features. "Could ya shut off some o' these bloody lights?"

"I'm afraid even dim light is going to bother you for a while. You've been drugged- your pupils are dilated."

Abandoning the futile effort, Jack let his complaining eyelid close... not only against the intolerable glare. The situation of being helplessly prone, with someone looming over him, was disquietingly similar to a certain recurring nightmare. It was far easier to cope with just the trusted voice.

James spoke again, low and regretful. "I should have realized what'd happened when I examined that wound on your leg. I'd learned about a similar case in one of my Academy classes. In 1978, Bulgarian dissident Georgi Markov received a lethal poison dose from an injection gun disguised as an umbrella. Right on a public street in London. Apparently, such an assault can also be committed with a stiletto heel."

"Where're we now?"

"In the cargo hold of a mid-sized airplane, under a containment net. We've been airborne for hours. I've no idea where we're heading." Jack felt warmth by his ear, as the other leaned close. "We're under surveillance."

As was only to be expected. Sparrow shifted a bit- the surface under his back was hard, and chilly. He wished he was wearing something more substantial than a cotton shirt and bluejeans.

"M' feet er cold."

"They took your shoes."

This was also expected, and demoralizing. Jack grimaced with disgust at his condition- feeling so sick he didn't want to move. Though, from what James said, under current circumstances moving wouldn't do much good anyway. It was probably better to rest until their situation improved.

_/ Never let 'em know everything you're capable of... /_

"What's the last thing you recall, Jack?"

"Remember, lookin' fer... taxi. Gettin' skewered, by a very sharp heel. Goin' all wobbly... Wha' happened?"

"You passed out on the sidewalk. An ambulance appeared almost immediately- I should have found that suspicious, too. Three attendants loaded you in and we drove off- we'd no sooner cleared the loading area when two of them drew guns on me. The ambulance pulled over to a cluster of dumpsters. They opened the back door and told me to get out."

Jack might have emitted a groan, if not for fear his stomach contents would follow. He could picture what James had done- or rather, hadn't done- as clearly as if he'd witnessed it.

"That was bloody stupid, Norrington."

"Maybe. Maybe not. It may have been their intention to shoot me the moment I exited. Instead, they restrained me..." James took a second to control his chagrin. "The ambulance continued to the small-craft area of the terminal, where we were transferred onto this plane..."

"How long's it been since we took off?"

"At least four hours."

Jack's tone was sorrowful. "We'll miss the opening ceremonies."

"There'll be other Olympics."

_/ But will we dare attend any of 'em? /_

If they could be ambushed like this, with no previous warning... would he and James ever again feel safe enough to travel? Or even come out of hiding?

Sparrow flopped his free arm across his face, concealing his wrenching sense of loss. A vital sense of security was gone beyond recall.

"Our passports must've been flagged. Mine, at least... That delay in the processin'... somebody was slowin' the works, making time fer that ambulance crew, an' that bitch w' the heels, ta get inta position."

"So it would seem. The enemy has outmaneuvered us. However, this is only the first skirmish."

Jack could practically hear James' face assuming that stolid Commodorial expression. The mental picture boosted his confidence. They'd get through this, somehow...

Both men felt the tilting of the fuselage, exactly like their jetliner's descent (bloody hell, had that actually happened within this same day?) They would soon be... wherever their kidnappers wanted them.

Sparrow bit down on his lips, to block the escape of any traitorous whimpers. Norrington's hand tightened on his, conveying a promise. Not pledging to stick close to Jack- they both knew it might not be within his power. But he'd try to, as best he was able.

Refusing his chance to flee may have been an absurd decision. But at this moment, Jack was desperately glad James had made it.

He returned the handclasp. They said no more, waiting in silence for their airborne prison to land...

xxx

TBC...


	3. Chapter 3

'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney.

---

Five paces, the last one grazing the sink edge. Turn left. Three and a half paces to the bars. Turn left again, another five paces, another left, then three steps to the bunk. Start over.

Norrington had repeated this circumnavigation uncounted times, trying to keep the cold at bay. And to give himself something to do besides staring about this dismal place- a long, windowless gray-concrete chamber. The low ceiling was set with florescent tubes that never dimmed or shut off, the floor was paved with off-white square tiles. Along one side, floor-to-ceiling metal bars formed five identical holding cells, including the one he was currently occupying. Each cell contained a porcelain sink and toilet- splotched and decrepit, but at least functional- and a hanging bunk with a thin mattress, barely large enough to hold a grown man. The facing wall sported several dingy metal cabinets, under an unblinking row of surveillance cameras.

To the left, an open entranceway offered a blank view of a perpendicular corridor- easily the most interesting feature here. James hearkened to the sound of footsteps coming down that hall. Jack being returned...? No, just one of those dull-faced minions walking by, sparing no glance for the prisoner. Norrington had yet to see anybody here whom he could suspect of being in a position of authority. Just muscular thugs, who delivered scanty meals and hauled them around. If he'd ever owned a dog with an expression as blank as theirs, he would have shot the animal and considered it a mercy killing.

It had been several hours since a pair of those drones had taken Sparrow out, and James' unease was getting hard to subdue. For the hundredth time, he felt a twinge of resentment towards Mr. Murphy, for not informing them their enemies might be closing in. And for the hundredth time, he conceded the man (or whatever he was) had never promised to do any such thing. Murphy had done nothing but caution Norrington to keep a weather eye peeled- if he'd done an inadequate job, James had only himself to blame.

Just for variation, he reversed his steps to a clockwise direction. "Contact the same emergency authorities anyone else would," he'd been advised. Maybe he could have done that, if he'd taken his chance to bolt from the ambulance. That might've done Jack a lot more good... or, it might have converted James into dumpster-stuffing.

He snorted. Right or wrong, it was far too late to second-guess that decision.

James took a break from pacing to do some arm clenches. Wondering how long it would be before their disappearance was noted. All too probably, the hotel had simply given their rooms away when they missed their check-in deadline. He had promised Meredith he'd phone to tell her about the games, but had set no firm schedule- he certainly hadn't told her to be concerned if he hadn't called by a particular time. There had been some previous occasions when Mare'd been so busy, he'd only been able to reach her answering service. If that was her situation now, it might take days for her to notice he hadn't called. Even when she got worried enough to start making inquires, the relevant authorities might not share her alarm, assuming it was just a couple guys straying from their original vacation plan.

On the other hand, the Coast Guard would definitely take note of James' failure to show up for his swearing-in, half a month from now. But even they would probably assume he was merely delayed, or AWOL- not a victim of foul play. By the time Jack and himself were officially declared Missing, their trail could be quite stale.

James glowered at the unlovely floor tiles. The longer he pondered this, the more probable it seemed that he and Sparrow would have to get themselves out of here. Wherever 'here' was. They'd both been blindfolded when they were hustled off the plane, so had no glimpse of the outside. The only location-related observation James had been able to make was the chilling wind, indicating a non-tropical latitude.

Speaking of chilly... James gave his forearms a vigorous rub. Whoever was in charge of this facility seemed inclined to scrimp on the heating costs.

Another noise sounded in the corridor; the unmistakable rumbling of gurney wheels. Two of those low-IQ musclemen turned the corner, maneuvering a rolling bed into the cellblock. On it lay Jack, completely limp, and just as completely unclothed.

James tried to appear disinterested, as the minions unlocked the adjacent cell's door, and carelessly transferred Sparrow onto the bunk. One of them plucked a bundle of denim and tan fabric- Jack's clothes- from the gurney shelf, letting it fall to the floor.

Norrington could now see that Jack was shivering steadily. How long had those bastards left him exposed to this cold air??

"For God's sake, put something over him! It's freezing in here!"

Neither guard gave any direct sign of hearing him. But the larger of them did extract two small olive-green blankets from a cabinet. He dropped one of these atop the unconscious prisoner, tossing the other to the base of James' bars. The drones then locked Sparrow's cell door and exited with the gurney, all without a word.

Norrington snatched up his designated blanket, pulling it around his shoulders like a shawl. As he resumed his rectangular pacing, his eye repeatedly wandered to the next cell. That imbecile had done a poor job of covering Jack, leaving both legs and one dangling arm bare. It was no surprise at all, when Sparrow's teeth began to chatter.

James was sorely tempted to stand vigil at the bars, but he'd already given their captors too many indications he could be used as leverage. It wouldn't help at all, for him to linger beside their separating wall like Romeo under Juliet's balcony. He could only hope it would occur to the observers that, if they didn't turn up the heat, the captive they'd taken such trouble to acquire might develop a serious infection...

There was sudden metallic grinding. The row of bars dividing their cells retracted a few feet into the concrete wall, leaving a gap just wide enough to allow passage. Norrington eyed it for a suspicious moment, before slipping through.

Hurrying to the sprawled pirate, he quickly arranged the limbs into a closer, heat-retaining position. He noticed a new bandage on Jack's upper arm and peeked under it, discovering a neatly-cut square of raw flesh. The implication was disturbing. If they were taking tissue samples to establish Jack's DNA pattern, they'd have a certain way of identifying him, no matter what change of name or location he made.

The ex-Commodore filed that concern away, for now. He busied himself tucking one blanket over Jack's chest, the other over his legs. But the quiescent body was already too cold to produce sufficient additional heat. As minutes passed, Sparrow's shivering only became more pronounced.

James' academy training had included techniques for dealing with survival threats, including hypothermia- he knew a method to prevent Jack's core temperature from dropping to a dangerously low level. His hesitation was only due to resentment of being treated like a lab animal- presented with a problematic situation so his captors could observe his response.

But it wouldn't do to focus on that, either. Not when his friend needed help.

Norrington loosened the covers and carefully reclined beside Jack, pulling the smaller form close against his own. Letting his own heat pass into the other's chilled body. It worked. Sparrow's jaw soon stilled, and his shivering decreased. When it finally stopped, the sedated pirate sighed contentedly, relaxing into what James hoped was natural sleep.

Norrington could not do the same- if he slumped, he'd roll off the narrow bunk. But he took what rest he could for the next few hours, finding solace in his charge's peaceful breathing.

Sparrow finally stirred, eyes fluttering open. His initial expression, upon meeting James' close green gaze, was bewilderment. As memory returned, a fast succession of other emotions followed; dismay, banked anger, enforced calm, chagrin... and soft gratitude.

"Good mornin', Mr. Norrington."

"Good morning, Jack." James loosened his hold, but didn't move away.

Jack averted his stare, shifting self-consciously. "By any chance, do ya happen to know where my clothes are?"

"On the floor. Would you like me to get them for you?"

"If you would be so kind."

Norrington carefully extracted himself from the embrace (Jack promptly curled up to compensate for the lost warmth) and stepped to retrieve the forlorn bundle. As he grasped it, another suspicion struck him. Whilst making a show of smoothing out the garments he made a quick tactile inspection, and detected a small hard spot at the back of the shirt collar.

As he handed the clothes to their owner, he gave them a freshening shake, to cover a fast whisper into Sparrow's ear. "Bug in collar."

Jack nodded vaguely. He sat up to get dressed, accepting James' help as needed. When that task was complete, James sat down close beside him, settling the blankets around them both. He hoped it wouldn't be much longer before somebody brought something to eat.

"Do you remember where they took you, Jack?"

Sparrow's answer was monotone. "Weren't awake the whole while, but when I was... 'Twere a glaring white room. Like an infirmary, w' several big machines. They strapped me ta one, an' asked a lotta bloody questions."

"About what?"

"Every place I've ever been, every person I've ever met. No end to 'em."

James' mouth thinned. Inquiries about Sparrow's history were a strong indication their abductors were, indeed, the enemies Murphy had referred to. Individuals who'd established- or at least strongly suspected- Jack's longevity, and were intent on discovering how he'd achieved it.

The pirate of old might have offered to provide that information, in exchange for sufficient payment. But the present-day Jack Sparrow had matured in one regard, if not many others; he fully understood the necessity of keeping the Fountain secret. Norrington was sure he'd do his best to resist telling about it... unfortunately, his best was unlikely to be good enough. Not in a captive situation, against interrogators with unlimited time to wear him down.

But James had thought of a possible defense: make Jack's sanity so suspect that the interrogators wouldn't know what to believe when he did talk. It shouldn't be too difficult to convince them, since Sparrow's mental stability really was somewhat questionable.

As the enemy was listening in, James knew he'd have to convey this strategy to Jack indirectly. Most fortuitous, then, that they knew each other so well.

Under the blanket, James took Sparrow's hand, pressing fingertips hard against the palm. / Pay attention to this. /

"Every person you've met? Even the ones who never really existed? You know what your doctors said about that."

Jack's eyes half-closed as he considered. Seconds later, his fingers returning the pressure. / Message understood. /

"Aye. Everyone. They weren't ez as interested in Davy Jones as you'd expect. Didn't you think he was singular, havin' a face all covered w' tentacles?"

James feigned a long-suffering sigh. "Whatever you say, Jack."

Sparrow's lip curled with just a touch of conspiratorial glee.

They had their game plan.

---


	4. Chapter 4

'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney.

---

The moment the guards tugged him into the room, James was sure this was the same place Jack had described earlier. It had the look and smell of a hospital, and contained several bulky devices. Including the one he being led to one- a reclining chair, with a wide cylinder obviously meant to be lowered around an occupant's head. Most probably an upright CAT scanner.

At least one of the 'attendants' had a gun trained on him, so James made no real resistance as they pushed him onto the chair and strapped him in place. The wide padded straps were not actually painful, nor was the adhesive blindfold they pressed over his eyes. Interrogation methods were subtler these days.

All the more reason to keep a firm grip his resolve.

As he heard the cylinder being adjusted into place around his cranium, Norrington reviewed everything he knew about 'computed axial tomography.' A CAT scanner was a medical imaging device, capable of mapping internal structures and neurological activity in different regions the brain. Including those areas that were activated when a person was engaged in deliberate deception. This application was still under study- CATs were not yet officially in use as a lie-detectors. But it seemed that certain parties were not waiting for official sanction.

James felt a needle pierce his arm. This was shortly followed by a forceful diminishing of his anxiety, even his curiosity. He recognized the effect from one of his 'special training' experiences at the Academy. He and several other students had been given demonstration injections of sodium thiopental, aka 'truth serum'. This sedative interfered with judgment and higher cognitive function, so made subjects less inhibited about answering questions.

Their instructor had tested the cadets' response to the serum, finding Norrington's resistance to be significantly above average. She had also imparted a useful method for withstand interrogation while drugged. "Focus on one definitely true, but useless, item of information. Try to keep referring back to it, no matter what's asked."

James knew exactly what that useless information should be. / Jack Sparrow is not entirely sane. /

Minutes passed. As other recollections and considerations faded, James continued to repeat variations to himself, keeping it afloat like an island in mist. / Jack's mad as a loon, as a march hare... as the seven seas... /

Being deprived of his eyesight seemed to enhance his hearing; he immediately noticed when footsteps entering the room. Not that it made any difference. /... fey, nutty, a few bolts loose... /

The steps crossed the floor, coming to a stop beside him. "Can you hear me clearly, Mr. Norrington?" It was pleasant male tenor, soothing and calm, with a trace of upper-class British accent.

"Yes," James said. Because he could.

"Are you comfortable?"

"Yes," James said. Because he was.

The voice could not have sounded more reassuring. "You have nothing to worry about, Mr. Norrington. We only want to know a few things about you, and about your friend Jack. It would be most helpful if you could answer some questions."

"All right." James would have preferred to just nod, but he couldn't move his head.

"This shouldn't take very long. To start off: what is your full name?"

"James Lysander Norrington."

"What is your age?"

"Thirty-nine."

"And where were you born?"

"London. England." The one alert corner of James' mind informed him, they were probably asking these things to chart his neurological activity when he was telling the truth.

"Very good, James. When and where did you first meet Jack?"

"Seven years ago. In Jamaica." / Daft pirate.../

"And how long have you been in his employ?"

"Not quite three years. On and off." / Emotional development of a seven-year-old... /

"Do you know his age?"

"Older than me... don't recall, he ever mentioned his year of birth." / Absent-minded halfwit... /

"Has he told you anything about his past?"

"He talks about it sometimes. But... can't always believe him." / Yarn spinner.../

"Why do you think that, James?"

"The stories he tells... about pirates, turning into skeletons in moonlight. Being chased by a squid as big as a whale. A sailing ship that dives like a submarine... crewed by men who're half-fish... Talks like he believes it. Don't think he lives entirely in reality. Or wants to."

"Does he ever refer to historical people or events?"

"All the time. Claims a sea goddess was his lover. Calypso... Jack is addled."

"Is that why you're with him? Are you his caretaker?"

"He's, not really incompetent... can take care of himself. But wants somebody around, who really knows him..." James frowned under the blindfold. His pocket of resistance was warning he might be on the verge of revealing too much. Perhaps he already had.

"Do you really know him, James?"

Here was a matter Norrington had analyzed long before. "I know him, well as anyone can. But... might as well claim to know the sea. Can't be done."

"Does Jack trust you?"

"I suppose." James was getting tired of this. He was getting tired, period.

The questioner leaned nearer. "If Jack trusts you, he might listen if you advise him to do something. It will make things much better for both of you, if he tells us his actual life story. Could you please ask him to do that, James?"

"I, can ask. But I don't think, you'll believe him, if he does. Jack... is not entirely grounded. 'Fey', it's called." Feeling deathly tired, James fell back into the entire litany. "Was driven mad by the heat, they say. He's not playing with a full deck. He's daft, he's jingle-brained, he's mentally impaired, he's delusional, he's a nutcase, he has the mentality of a child, he's..."

"Put him under," said the voice, suddenly much further away.

It was a relief to feel the second injection, and the obscuring blackness closing in. At this moment, all Norrington wanted was to be done with this taxing maneuvering... to finally be allowed to rest...

Though only for this moment.

---


	5. Chapter 5

'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney.

---

"James? Is it worse 'en usual?" Jack's question skittered worriedly across the tiles.

Norrington managed to reply. "No. Just... not any better."

The aftermath of interrogation was all too familiar to him: regaining consciousness on a hard floor, drug residue making it's presence known in his distressed stomach and cranium. Until the worst of it passed, even the short distance to his bunk was too far to transverse.

James supposed he could at least be glad their cellblock was warmer than it had been. Perhaps so their captors could threaten to turn the thermostat down again, in retaliation for any misbehaviors. Or maybe they'd decided the chill was unnecessary, since Jack seemed inclined to keep his shirt on (with that raisin-sized listening device secreted in the collar) even in this more-livable temperature.

After several unmoving minutes, James' nausea eased enough for him to risk turning over. His eye automatically fixed on the only colorful object within view: his fellow captive, seated against the bars dividing their cells, blue-jeaned knees pulled up against his chest. The weary brown eyes regarded him sympathetically- Sparrow had also experienced these drug-ravaged awakenings. Since being imprisoned here the only events marking their days, other than the flavorless meals, had been guards hauling one or the other of them in and out, always sedated or in restraints. They'd taken Jack more often, for examination or interrogation. Both experiences were singularly unpleasant... the stress was showing.

James finally crawled to his bunk, managing to sit up against the base. His stare returning to the former pirate. Jack looked child-sized; barefoot and saucer-eyed, clothes hanging loosely. Remove the ragged beard and he could almost pass for a street urchin.

/ Has he always been so small...? It is likely he's lost weight, on this grain-porridge diet we're subsisting on. I doubt I look any better, / James conceded, running a palm over his own stubbled chin. Between having no razor, or any washing facilities other than a cold-water sink, he probably bore considerable resemblance to his 'rumpot deckhand' self. Norrington shook his head as violently as he dared, to dispel that degraded image.

"How long do ya suppose we've been here, James?"

"Hard to judge, with no day cycle. Maybe three weeks."

This was another demoralizing subject. Norrington had so hoped their captors would have concluded by now, that Jack was just a deluded eccentric... or, if he was immortal, that he was too addled to provide any useful information about it. Once convinced, they'd have no reason not to release their captives. Neither had any clue to whom their kidnappers were, or where their holding place was located. Unfortunately, the responsible party(s) seemed doggedly determined to recover something of what they'd invested in this effort.

Sparrow stirred, craning his neck to regard his companion. "Yer lookin' a bit peaked, James."

Norrington lowered his face, shooting a quick glance towards the row of surveillance cameras- his way of reminding Jack they were always under scrutiny. It was most tiresome, having to maintain constant vigilance about everything they said or signaled. But maintain it they must.

"I have been out of the sun for a while, Sparrow. Not everyone's born with that self-perpetuating tan of yours. Or is it just permanent deck-staining?" James was pleased to be able to rally a touch of snark.

This seemed to revive Jack's customary loquaciousness. "Sadly, 'tis not possible fer me ta share my most-fortuitous pigmentation with your Commodorial self. However, should there be somethin' else I can do..."

Norrington decided to chance it. Even a momentary 'escape' from this oppressive hole could be a godsend. "You can, actually. Would you be kind enough to sing something for me?"

Sparrow tilted his head. "Seriously?

"I would, seriously, enjoy a bit of music. And you have a decent singing voice. Perhaps, something you learned recently?"

The ex-pirate understood the inference- nothing to date him to his century of origin. He pressed one finger to his chin. "How do you feel about Irish traditional?"

"No objections at all. So long as it's reasonably cheerful."

"I can accommodate that request." Sitting straighter, Jack began singing, starting low and gradually gaining volume:

_"As I came down through Dublin City_  
_At the hour of twelve at night,_  
_Who should I see but the Spanish Lady_  
_Washing her feet by candlelight!_  
_First she washed them, then she dried them_  
_Over a fire of amber coal,_  
_In all my life I ne'er did see_  
_A maid so sweet about the sole..."_

Heartened, Jack rendered the chorus with some vigor:

_"Whack for the toora loora laddie,_  
_Whack for the toora loora lay,_  
_Whack for the toora loora laddie_  
_Whack for the toora loora lay!_

_As I went back through Dublin City_  
_As the sun began to set,_  
_Who should I spy but the Spanish Lady_  
_Catching a moth in a golden net,_  
_When she saw me, then she fled me_  
_Lifting her petticoat over her knee..."_

Sparrow's lip acquired a familiar lecherous curl.

_"I never saw a thigh so fair_  
_As that high step revealed to me!_

_Whack for the toora loora laddie,_  
_Whack for the toora loora lay,_  
_Whack for the toora loora laddie_  
_Whack for the toora loora lay!"_

The third verse, describing what occurred when he overtook the suddenly amorous lady, was so risqué it had to be of Jack's own devising. Under other circumstances, Norrington might have bestowed a disapprobatious frown. Now he was glad to have turned Sparrow's attention to _something_ other than their deplorable circumstances. He contributed his own voice to the final chorus:

_"Whack for the toora loora laddie,_  
_Whack for the toora loora lay,_  
_Whack for the toora loora laddie_  
_Whack for the toora loora lay-aay-aay-ay!!"_

When they'd finished, both men were grinning broadly. James noted his stomachache was far more bearable.

"Yer turn, James! You must know somethin' of a similar vein!"

"Hmmm." James frowned, searching memory for an upbeat ditty he could recite without feeling ridiculous. "I may have overheard a show tune..."

"Oooo, let's have it!" Jack wiggled against the bars, eyes alight, and James didn't have the heart to refuse. He cleared his throat and began:

_"Do you hear the people sing? Singing a song of angry men?_  
_It is the music of a people who will not be slaves again!_  
_When the beating of your heart echoes the beating of the drums_  
_There is a life about to start when tomorrow comes!_

_Will you join in our crusade? Who will be strong and stand with me?_  
_Beyond the barricade is there a world you long to see?_  
_Then join in the fight that will give you the right to be free!_

_Will you give all you can give so that our banner may advance?_  
_Some will fall and some will live; will you stand up and take your chance?_  
_The blood of the martyrs will water the meadows of France!"_

Following James' example, Jack joined in:

_"Can you hear the people sing? Singing a song of angry men!_  
_It is the music of a people who will not be slaves again!_  
_When the beating of your heart echoes the beating of the drums_  
_There is a life about to start when tomorrow comes!_

Too-more-oooh, Tomorrow Comes!"

The last line was bellowed so loudly, James feared someone might come running to interfere. Luckily, no one did.

Jack, clapping enthusiastically, was looking far more like his normal optimistic self. Norrington felt recharged too- he hoisted himself atop his bunk with no internal complaints.

"Back to you, Sparrow. Perhaps something quieter this time? We don't want to bring the guards down on us."

"Quieter. That's easy." To James' surprise, the other's continence changed drastically, becoming studiously calm, as he sang in an almost whispery voice:

_"Baroshekar aador meke,_  
_Bheshe elam sagor theke,_  
_Baleer toteh notun disha,_  
_Adar theke alor mesha,_  
_Batash bhara bhalo basha..._

_Ke kandare..._

_Baicho toree, aral theke...?_

_Baroshekar aador meke,_  
_Bheshe elam sagor theke,_  
_Baleer toteh notun disha,_  
_Adar theke alor mesha,_  
_Batash bhara bhalo basha..."_

Struck by this quantum shift in Jack's manner, Norrington took a moment to comment. "Is that a lullaby?"

Sparrow shrugged. "Could be used fer such purpose. 'Tis 'The Boatman', by Nitin Sawhney. Indian chap. I committed it to memory 'cause it reminds me of somethin' I heard a lot earlier." His eyes dropped shut- for a moment, he looked entirely peaceful. James elected not to interrupt.

Soon enough, those coffee-brown orbs reopened, fixing purposefully on his fellow inmate. "Your turn again, Mr. Norrington. I'd imagine you learned a tune or two at the Academy?"

James almost sent another glance towards the cameras... but, the listeners probably already knew about his recent schooling.

"As a matter of fact, I did. Have you heard of a singing duo called Simon and Garfunkel?"

"Aye. First came ta prominence in the nineteen sixties, if I recall aright."

"My Academy roommate, Timothy Orpsgod, was an ardent fan of theirs. And not a fan of wearing headphones. Consequently, I learned a good portion of their repertoire without even trying to."

"I'd be pleased to hear yer own rendition, James."

Norrington reviewed his options. 'El Condor Pasa' was his favorite, but it wouldn't sound nearly as good without the instrumental accompaniment. 'Mrs. Robinson'... no, he didn't know the lyrics well enough. And 'Sounds of Silence' was too despondent. That left...

"Would 'Bridge Over Troubled Water' be to your liking?"

"Aye, it would!" Jack propped hands under his chin to listen. James obliged:

_"When you're weary, feeling small_  
_When tears are in your eyes,_  
_I will dry them all._  
_I'm on your side when times get rough,_

_And friends just can't be found..._  
_Like a bridge over troubled water,_  
_I will lay me down_  
_Like a bridge over troubled water,_  
_I will lay me down._

_When you're down and out, when you're on the street,_  
_When evening falls so hard,_  
_I will comfort you._  
_I'll take your part when darkness comes,_

_And pain is all around..._  
_Like a bridge over troubled water,_  
_I will lay me down_  
_Like a bridge over troubled water_  
_I will lay me down..."_

He added a slight variation to the intermezzo:

_"Sail on, ebon ship,_  
_Sail on by,_  
_Your time has come, to shine,_  
_All your dreams are on their way,_  
_See how they shine!_  
_Ooh, if you need a friend,_

_I'm sailing right behind_  
_Like a bridge over troubled water,_  
_I will ease your mind,_  
_Like a bridge over troubled water!_  
_I will ease your mind...!"_

Jack had relaxed against the bars, smiling softly, as though just hearing the words made them a reality.

Norrington smiled too, seeing his friend looking so reassured. He drew a breath to begin the song again...

Sparrow suddenly tensed, his expression stiffening. James knew why- he could also hear threatening sounds coming the corridor. Gurney wheels.

The two prisoners could do nothing but cut eyes, conveying mutual anxiety as the noise drew ever closer.

Which of them was it coming for this time...?

---

'The Boatman' lyrics are by Nitin Sawhney. Below is an approximate translation from the original Hindi:

_(Something) caressed with love_  
_I drifted ashore from the sea_  
_The sand shows a new way_  
_The light blends with the darkness_  
_The wind is full of love..._

_Who are you, boatman..._

_Who paddles this boat, whom I cannot see...?_


	6. Chapter 6

'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney.

---

The former Commodore lay on his bunk, rail-straight, staring at that too-familiar gray rectangle of ceiling. He'd long since memorized every irregularity there, along with every reflected light on the 39 encircling bars, and every nick and splotch on his cell's 342 floor tiles. He closed his eyes, hoping he might drop off after that long stretch of isometric exertions. No such mercy. James' treacherous imagination insisted on picturing what might be happening to Jack.

Sparrow had been taken out some hours ago- lately he'd been spending more time outside his cell than in it. Their captors seemed hell-bent on extracting something from him. All too probably, soon they'd get around to trying threats against James. Nothing good could result from that.

As usual, that thought was closely followed by efforts to formulate an escape plan.

Abandoning his attempt to rest, James arose, grasped a couple bars and resumed his alternate-pulling exercises. Unfortunately, all the schemes he'd devised so far depended on improbable factors. The least-unfeasible one involved flinging his mattress at the guards the moment they entered his cell, which might possibly startle them enough to let him use those infighting techniques he'd learned at the Academy. If he could manage to knock them all out, flee blindly down the corridor, and elude every pursuer until he'd located an unguarded exit...

The odds against that made him snort. And there was an additional unlikely requirement; the adjacent cell would have to be accessible too. Leaving Jack behind was an absolute Nonstarter.

/ And just when did Sparrow become so important to me? / Norrington wondered, adjusting his arm position. / I was actually willing to send him to his death, not too many years ago. Perhaps it's true that 'No rage like love to hatred turned' also works in reverse. /

Sounds of approaching steps snatched his attention. Two of those drones appeared, practically dragging Jack between them. The handcuffed pirate was virtually limp in their grip, head hanging listlessly, visage obscured behind his bedraggled mane.

The guards opened his cell door, removed the cuffs and shoved him inside. Jack barely managed to stumble the few feet to his bunk before collapsing. With effort, he dragged his legs up and lay prostrate, face buried in his arms. Trembling violently.  
James forced himself to wait until the men left, before he spoke. "Jack...?"

"Not now," Sparrow hissed, shuddering again.

Norrington, who'd given up trying to hide his concern for Jack, eyed the stricken man closely. There was no visible blood or bruising, but not every injury left obvious marks.

The navyman looked pleadingly to the nearest camera. Though it galled him to beg, he could do so when necessary.

"Please, let me help him. Please!"

A minute later, with a clank and hum, the sliding wall retracted. James immediately crossed to Jack's side.

Sparrow stayed where he was as James knelt by bunk, examining him carefully. Still finding no indication of physical damage, he set a hand on the flinching shoulder. "Jack, are you hurt?"

"Could... say that," the broken voice croaked.

"What did they do to you?"

"Made me, relive somethin'... I'da preferred ta forget altogether." He made a sound like a suppressed sob.

Norrington wanted to turn his face away. Even the great Captain Sparrow, wiliest pirate on the Spanish Main, survivor of a thousand adventures- and misadventures- on every sea and continent... even he had a breaking point.

James placed palms on the thin shoulders, gently massaging the bunched muscles. Hoping a kindly touch would impart some measure comfort. Sparrow finally lifted his head to regard him- the brown eyes were twin pools of misery.

"James... they took the beads."

Norrington looked to Jack's left temple, where those three shaped pebbles had resided since their New York excursion. Careful fingering confirmed they were indeed gone.

"Those can be replaced," James assured, smoothing the bereft locks behind Jack's ear. "Once we get out of here, we'll go on more trips, and collect more souvenirs. Better ones." James leaned closer, mindful of the accursed listening device. "They're asking the same questions?"

"An' I been answerin'. They want different answers."

Norrington's gut twisted. The feigned-insanity ploy might have backfired. Rather than giving up, their enemies were ruthlessly delving through Jack's tangled mind, hoping to chance upon the wanted information.

"Been tellin' 'em every tale I know. You know that one 'bout Tantalus? Bloke who couldn't touch the water, or fruit, 'cause they kept shrinking just outta reach? Told that a lot." Jack's lip curved vaguely, as though at some private joke.

Norrington felt close to despair. He'd long been telling himself, he and Jack could at least be grateful physical torture was not the preferred way to make people talk in this era. But were mentally-damaging methods any less horrendous? His merry-eyed friend was being shattered. Those keen wits, sharp judgment, clever faculties- everything that made him Jack Sparrow... reduced to a babbling ruin of his former self.

James turned the smaller man over, gathering him against his chest. He shifted to sit on the bunk, pressing the tanned cheek to his own bearded one, rocking Sparrow as gently as he would a hurt child. At this moment, if he'd had information about the Fountain, he might have offered it to the watchers if only they'd leave Jack alone... just allow that wounded spirit a chance to heal...

Sparrow moved his head, to a point where James' body blocked the line of every camera. Norrington got a close-up view as the mournful eyes suddenly cleared. With a flash of mischievous grin, Jack mouthed the words:

'It's All An Act, Mate.'

Norrington urgently pressed his face to Sparrow's neck, concealing his expression. Their situation had just made a 180-degree turn.

/ I should have known! Jack is always keeping something in reserve! / James might have felt chagrin at being so taken in, if he weren't relieved to his very core.

It took some seconds for him to notice: the pirate's fingers had curled around his back and were moving between his shoulder blades. Tracing the shape of upper case letters- the same succession of them, over and over. Norrington focused until he'd perceived the complete message:

I K N O W A W A Y O U T

James recalled Sparrow's barely conscious demeanor when he was brought in- another deception, making his escort careless about what they allowed their captive to see.

Norrington thought fast. Next time the drones came, both prisoners would be in the same cell- one conveying a most convincing impression of helplessness. It was a slim chance... but probably the best they were going to get.

The navyman tightened his embrace, feigning distress, as he traced his reply below Jack's shoulder:

W H E N G U A R D S C O M E W E B R E A K O U T.

The pirate slid one hand down James' arm and clasped his wrist, almost savagely. That gesture required no words.

When their captors returned, it'd be all or nothing.

---


	7. Chapter 7

'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney.

---

As James hastily followed Jack down another narrow corridor, he couldn't help wondering why the pirate had have ever been brought to this part of the facility. This stretch looked deserted- even ancient. Rough mortared stone, lit only by slits cut high in the wall.

The navyman glanced behind them- still no pursuers in sight. Which was suspicious. Maybe no guards were trying to catch up because there was, in fact, no egress from this section. Yet Sparrow did seem to know where he was heading.

"There 'tis!" Jack announced, darting to a battered-looking metal grate set in the base of a wall. James knelt to peer through- he could see only a rough-cut tunnel leading into darkness.

"You think this leads outside?"

"I know it does! 'Caught a whiff of salt air comin' through it." Jack was tugging at the grate's upper right corner. "Jus' needs a good tug. Give a hand, will you, Mr. Norrington?"

"That's all your certainty is based on? You supposedly...?"

"There's nothin' supposed about it- I'd recognize that divine fragrance in the deepest circle of Hell!" The smaller man turned his most serious expression on James. "Do trust me on this."

/ It's not like we have anything better to go on, / Norrington admitted to himself. "All right."

He grasped the opposite corner, and they'd soon tugged the grate open. Sparrow crawled in first, reminding James to "shut the door behind us." His friend did so, though not without a qualm. The passage, barely over two feet high, was littered with dirt and mortar chunks. They soon left behind even the scant lighting from the grate, so were crawling in total darkness. James briefly wondered if this was how it felt to be a mole.

Jack eagerly scuttled along, slowing just occasionally to feel his way around turns. Norrington could only follow the scraping sounds, as quickly as he could manage, fervently hoping Sparrow's confidence wasn't based on an actual mental delusion.

Then, he felt a vague breeze on his face. Definitely bearing something fairer than the odor of unwashed pirate- the unmistakable fragrance of wet foliage.

Sparrow deftly wiggled around another corner. "Theer's light ahead!"

Even as Jack exclaimed, James perceived subtle highlighting of the tunnel contours. The two escapees quickened their crawling, and soon spotting brighter glints of light reflecting off the ever-wetter substrate. James could now hear a low rushing sound. Surf? Wind...?

With a joyful yelp, Jack surged forward. The next second, James saw it too; a square grating, with green daylight beyond. That ambiguous sound was now identifiable as rainfall.

Sparrow scrambled over the last few meters, pushing his face against the grate to look out. "Nobody around." He felt around the edge. "Fastened on either side, but the holes 'round the bolts are rusty. A few good blows should break through!" He reversed his position, flexing one leg to strike the left edge.

"Wait! Better put this on!" Pulling alongside, James yanked off one shoe to hand to Jack. "It'll be more effective if we do this together."

"As always, cousin!" Jack managed to force the shoe on, as he and Norrington maneuvered into parallel kicking positions. "On the count three: one, two...!"

Their feet struck simultaneously; the corroded metal groaned. Following the same count, they delivered another paired kick, and another. Under the fourth blow the fastening broke, spraying rust bits. They shoved the bent grating aside and tumbled out- ragged and muddy, but in open air!

James took one second to replace his loaned shoe and examine their surroundings- lumpy verdant pastureland under gray curtains of rain. Then he hurried after Sparrow, who'd bolted like a hound spotting game.

Norrington spared one glance backward. They were fleeing a huge stony structure in poor repair- an old castle or fortress.

He risked only that glimpse. Jack preceded him on a dash across the open grass into scrubby forest, and concealment from anyone watching from that building. Rain drops struck James' eyeballs, he shook them off. A fallen bough tripped him, he righted himself and kept going.

Once they passed under the eaves, the low pines provided some protection from the drenching rain. The air was so thick with resin scent Norrington wouldn't have thought it possible to smell anything else. But apparently Jack did- he was racing straight downhill through the trees. "We're gettin' close!" he called over his shoulder.

The music of crashing waves soon confirmed this. Silvery waterscape started to show between the trunks, growing wider as the forest thinned out, until finally they saw it plain- a boundless, beautiful expanse of ocean!

Sparrow sped joyfully over the stony beach, splashing knee-deep into blessed salt water. He might have immersed himself entirely, if James hadn't caught his arm to tug him back ashore.

"There's no time to take a swim- we've got to keep moving!" Noting how rugged the shoreline was, he added, "You'll need these," and bent to remove his shoes.

Jack shook his head, splaying droplets from his rain-soaked mane. "Mate, you'll get more use from them 'en I will. They're too short fer my..."

"Then at least take these." James stripped off his sodden socks and tossed them over. "Better than nothing."

Accepting with a nod, Jack tugged them onto his long feet. "I don't suppose you also have a scarf? My neck's a bit cold." The moment they'd fled from their cellblock, Jack had torn off and trampled his shirt collar, and the concealed listening device within.

"It's a small price to pay for finally being able to talk," Norrington pointed out. Sparrow could hardly disagree.

They veered right and continued running, along the stone-strewn stretch between sea and forest. The rain continued, somewhat less fiercely. The pirate repeatedly glanced seaward, eyes narrowed.

"James, I believe I know where we are. This is the Outer Hebrides."

"How sure are you?"

"I'd wager my Geneva vault on it."

He was probably correct, Norrington conceded. As he'd seen for himself, Jack's ability to discern his at-sea location bordered on the supernatural. Perhaps it actually was... no, he wouldn't get started on that.

The fugitives gradually slowed to a brisk walk, as James reviewed everything he knew of the Hebrides; an extensive cluster of variant-sized islands off the northwest coast of Scotland. He'd never sailed close enough to make landing there, but the descriptions he'd heard did match this place. Rocky, rainy and green- possessing the stark beauty of life at the edge of possibility. Sparsely populated, largely by sheep farmers and fishermen. Many of the smaller islands were nature preserves, a few were privately owned. Isolated as these islets were, they'd certainly make effective places to hold prisoners, lawfully or otherwise. It would be expensive, since virtually all supplies would have to be shipped in. But it was a given that the individual(s) responsible for bringing them here was well endowed. This whole criminal endeavor was someone's obsessive effort to acquire one of few things money couldn't buy.

"You don't happen to recognize which island this is?"

Jack shook his head, throwing less spray in the lessened rain. "There's a plentiful number- it'd take years to visit them all. Some're too small ta have names on the maps."

"Then I suppose the best we can do is continue along this beach, and hope we come across a fishing village or such before our enemies catch up." He glanced behind them. "Keep a weather eye open and be ready to bolt for the woods."

Jack nodded, but frowned slightly. Norrington understood why.

The landscape to their right graduated from low forest to sloped grasslands and back again. As before, no sight or sound of pursuers presented itself, which was still disconcerting. James hoped it was only because it was taking a while for those dullard minions to confirm their quarry was now outside the stronghold. But, being a realist, he had to consider another explanation: there was no hurry to recapture the fugitives because this uninhabited island was prison enough. And, perhaps, because capture was not needed to establish exactly where the escapees were.

Almost involuntarily, James' hand moved to the edge of his right shoulder blade, fingering the short, mostly healed incision there. That had been inflicted during their initial week of captivity- he'd noted it after regaining consciousness in his cell for the first time. It had occurred to him then, that that cut might denote an implanted tracking chip.

He glanced at Jack, who'd accumulated a number of small lacerations. It was even more probable they'd chipped their prize captive. Norrington's jaw set as he envisioned their keepers- warm, dry and amused- currently tracking their signals on a GPS scanner. Blithely electing to postpone collecting the prisoners until the weather improved.

James irritably pushed his wet hair back from his face. Loathe as he was to admit it, this hard-won escape might have made their situation worse. Now that he and Jack had discovered the location of their holding place, their captors had a solid motive to never release them. It may have been their plan anyway- now it was that much more likely.

He glanced to Jack again. The worried furrow between his brows was still there. Sparrow was probably pondering the same thing.

This just might be the last time either of them would ever walk under an open sky.

But James set his shoulders, resolving not to be discouraged. Their circumstances could change unexpectedly. Particularly with Jack Sparrow in the equation.

An hour later the rain was reduced to a drizzle, and the starboard landscape was a tree-studded tumble of slabs and boulders. Jack's ersatz footgear was marked with red splotches, though he trudged doggedly on. Checking the sky, James somberly concluded that even if there were other residents on this island, they weren't going to find them before nightfall. "We should start looking for shelter now, while we still have enough light to see by."

"Pro'bly not... a bad idea."

James felt a pang at the slurred words. Sparrow had been operating on adrenaline for some while now; his need to rest was becoming urgent. Norrington gripped his elbow, to guard against possible stumbling. It said something about his degree of fatigue, that Jack voiced no objection.

Fortunately they didn't need to search long. Half a mile down the beach, they found a cave. Or at least a reasonable facsimile. It was a space under some leaning rock slabs, high enough to allow standing and deep enough to block the rain. Jack and James exchanged a relieved glance as they entered.

The interior was indeed dry, save for the very back, where a rivulet of clear water bounced picturesquely down the wall. As Sparrow slumped wearily to the floor, James stepping to examine this feature. He stuck the tip of his tongue in the flow, tasting carefully.

"Channeled rainwater- this should be safe to drink. I'd advise you to take in all you can hold, Jack. You have a lot of drug residue to flush from your system." As did he, but that could wait.

The pirate stumbled over and tried a mouthful. "Less than terrible. Though rum'd do me a lot more good." He looked wistfully to James, as though expecting him to remedy that situation.

"Extract rum from a cloven rock? Even Moses never managed that."

Jack shrugged, and proceeded to follow the prescription.

The growling of his stomach reminded Norrington food was their next priority. He stepped back out to the beach, kneeling to check the tide pools. Pushing aside a drape of rock weed, he rejoiced to find healthy populations of limpets beneath. James pried off several dozen of the mollusks, using his shirt as a makeshift basket to carry them back to the cave.

To his minor surprise, Jack was busy rinsing off under the little waterfall. "Washing for dinner, Sparrow?"

"It's a hard habit ta give up once acquired," Jack admitted, grinning. "Lodging with a shower- that's better 'en I expected!"

"You've even got room service, of a sorts." James spread his bounty-laden garment on the floor. "Not quite haute cuisine, but we've both made do with worse fare."

"Hunger never saw bad bread," Sparrow agreed, toweling off with his own shirt. He crouched, scraped a disk of orange flesh from a volcano-shaped shell, and popped it in his mouth. "Arguably comparable to raw oysters."

The two devoured the limpets in the fading daylight. It was at least sufficient to quell their worst stomach pains.

Norrington took his own turn under the cascade, while Jack stepped out on his own errand. Minutes later he returned with a double armload of less-than-soaked seaweed. Together they arranged it on the flattest part of the floor and covered it with their shirts, making a sleeping pad just large enough to accommodate two very tired bodies. They sat together to try it out- it was damp and lumpy, but more comfortable than bare rock.

Leaning wearily against each other's backs, they watching the outside view of slate-blue sky darkening to charcoal, accompanied by the audible balm of wave song.

"It could be worse. At least it's summer in this hemisphere," James commented.

"An' at the moment, theer's not much wind. So... we made it out!"

"Yes, we did. I'll never again question the reliability of your olfactory impressions."

Jack smiled, teeth flashing ferally in the dim light. "Those woolly-pated blaggards weren't expecting that attack, were they?"

"Indeed not." James couldn't resist a similar smirk, recalling their short, intense bit of combat. "Speaking of which; do I dare to ask where you learned that most effective kick?"

"In northern Japan. From Swordmaster Lady Hiroko. I spent four years in her tutelage."

"You'll have to tell me about that..." Norrington yawned widely, "... some other time."

"Aye. Later."

The rain finally stopped, though the overcast remained. No stars appeared, just the distant lights of a ship skirting the horizon.

"Any thoughts about what to do tomorrow, Mr. Norrington?"

"I believe we have no chance of getting away on foot. From the degree of curvature we've seen on this shore, I'd deduce this is not a large island- we won't be able to evade an organized search for long." James frowned at the distant yellow and red dots. "That ship is too far away to be hunting for us. But we'll have to be wary of any vessel small enough to approach the shore. If one does come near, we could pretend to surrender, then try to commandeer it."

"Deception an' ambush- I like that plan!"

"Then there's definitely something wrong with it. But I'm too tired to think of anything better just now." James stifled another yawn. "We may as well try to get some sleep. We both need it."

"Aye aye, ol' Commodore." Jack fidgeted. "Though, first I need to take care of that flushing you mentioned."

The two spent the night curled close on their makeshift mattress. Despite the makeshift facilities, it was a great improvement over that concrete tomb, and within hearing of the sea.

The mist-shrouded sun finally returned, finding only Norrington awake. He'd been roused by the sound of a boat motor, quite close to their shore.

James carefully uncoiled himself from his still-slumbering friend, and moved to peek from the cave mouth. Fog lay close upon the ocean's surface, restricting visibility. But he could see a moving craft about seventy feet out; a four-meter fishing skiff. The single figure at the helm was featureless, wrapped in a khaki rain poncho. Possibly a local fisherman who could be persuaded to help them. Or, if it was a pursuer, there was just one to deal with. Norrington decided to risk it.

He descended to the rocky waterline, now lapped by moderate low-tide waves. Stepping onto a wide stone, he stood erect and flailed his arms. The skiff made a sharp turn and headed directly towards him.

Norrington tensed, studying the approaching pilot. Seeking clues to his intent, and formidability. The figure bore no visible weapons, and didn't look any larger than himself, though that loose poncho made it hard to be certain. James strained to read the man's expression, but the face was shadowed beneath the rain hood.

Then he noticed something which gave him a start. There was a little black flag fluttering on the craft's aft end, sporting a very familiar graphic: a skull in profile with a red head cloth, facing a small bird. Exactly like the souvenir flags sold aboard the Lady Buccaneer.

As the skiff neared shore, the occupant cut the motor, letting momentum carry it over the remaining few meters. Norrington was unsure what to do- attack or speak- as the craft scraped to a halt near his boulder's base. Then the pilot reached up, tugging back the hood. Revealing a tousled mass of spun-copper hair and earnest gray-blue eyes.

James' jaw dropped.

"Meredith!"

---


	8. Chapter 8

'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney.

---

Several questions sprang to Norrington's mind, all relevant to the improbability of Meredith Chaucer, of all people, sailing to this edge-of-nowhere with a boat easily large enough to transport three people. But Mare spoke first.

"James! Thank God- I'm so glad I found you! Do you know where Jack is?"

He hesitated for one suspicious second, before his pragmatic self took charge. Establishing how this happened could wait; the chance of escape must be seized now.

"Yes- he's not far." Norrington took a step back towards the cave.

"Just a moment!" Meredith reached under her bench, fishing out a folded tool pouch. She unfolded it, revealing a scanning wand, several wipes and dressings, and a set of dissection knives. That provoked additional questions, but James decided to just accept the apparent boon, for now.

Mare tossed him the coiled hawser, which James quickly secured around one of the taller boulders. She stepped out over the bow, poncho floating, and they both hurried up the stony beach to the cave. James, peering inside, was momentarily disconcerted to see no trace of Sparrow. Then it came to him.

"Hold back a moment, Mare." Norrington approached the mouth alone. "Jack! That boat does not belong to an enemy, and you have not just seen me being taken hostage. There's no cause to jump on anyone!"

He entered cautiously, spotted Sparrow halfway up the left wall. The black-eyed pirate was on a barely-protruding ledge, crouched like a cat about to spring.

Mare stepped inside, her facial features barely visible in the mist-diffused illumination.

"Oh!" Jack dropped lightly to the floor, giving the newcomer a cheerful grin. "Good morning, Ms Chaucer- very nice to see you again!"

"Hello, Jack." Hands on hips, Mare glanced from him to Norrington, shaking her head. Both men were shirtless, with pants scruffed and torn by rocks, their hair and beards even more ragged. "You two look like a proper pair of castaways."

"You'll have to excuse us, darlin'- we weren't expecting company fer breakfast. Did you happen to bring some?" The pirate's fingers fluttered hopefully.

"There's supplies in the skiff. But first we'd better take care of this." Mare hefted the scanning wand.

Jack's smile flashed like treasure. "Bless you, lass! I'd offer to kiss you, if Mr. Norrington weren't standin' right here."

"Let's not waste any time," James grumbled. He turned to present his back. "I believe you're going to find a chip beside my left shoulder blade."

"Quite right," Mare confirmed, a few seconds later. She scanned Norrington's entire length, to verify that was the only implant, then removed one of the little knifes from it's sheath. Norrington lay down on the improvised bed. Mare cleaned the area with a disinfectant wipe before going to work. One mildly painful minute later, she announced, "Got it!"

"Don't damage it- leave it here as a decoy," James reminded, rising.

Mare disdainfully eyed the tiny bloodied square on her blade, before carefully wiping it off on a loose stone. She applied an adhesive bandage to James' back and retrieved the wand.

"Your turn, Jack." Sparrow cheekily spread his arms, assuming a 'Here I Am' posture.

Meredith began scanning at the bare brown toes and moved up, finding nothing until she reached his neck. Staring at the reading, she emitted a most unladylike epithet. "They put it beside your spine!"

Jack grimaced. Norrington was furious. There was only one motive for such a placement: to make removal of the chip a dangerous process. One slip of the blade and Sparrow could have permanent neural damage- even be paralyzed.

James set hands on Jack's shoulders, looking him straight in the eye. "Do you want to risk taking it out now?"

"We've no chance of gettin' away whilst that infernal thing's in me- of course I want it out!" Jack covered his anxiety with a fierce scowl.

"All right." The former commodore turned gravely to Meredith. "I think I should do this."

"I think I should. I know how to handle one of these, James- I've used Exacto knives for years at my job."

"Doing surgery?"

"Cutting stencils."

"That's hardly the same thing."

"But it's more expertise than you can claim. What's more important..." she looked pointedly at James' large hands, "... you're definitely better equipped to hold his head still. Which is going to be critical."

"She's right, mate! Let's get this over with." Jack took his place on the seaweed mattress, swiped the hair away from his nape and pressed his face into folded hands. Only the twitching of his fingers betrayed his unease.

There was no help for it. James knelt, anchoring the top of Sparrow's head between his knees, and the lower part between firm palms. Mare sponged off Jack's neck with another wipe, before unsealing a fresh knife. "This will take a while. I'll have to make very small cuts."

"Mmmmph," was the pirate's only response. Norrington moved reassuring fingertips along his jaw line.

Watching the blade sink through Jack's skin proved to be more unnerving than enduring it himself. James averted his eyes, murmuring encouragement. Sparrow tensed but held still, as Mare alternately wiped away blood and probed, millimeter by careful millimeter.

"There the bastard is," she finally growled. With a last tiny scrape, she lifted the chip clear, depositing it on another pebble. As she applied a padded bandage to the small wound, James released his hold. "How's the mobility?"

Jack flexed each arm and leg in turn, before sitting up. Then he tested every finger, and finally his toes. "Everythin' seems ta be functional," he announced brightly. "A most commendable job, lass!"

James raked his knuckles across his brow- he hadn't realized he'd been sweating. "Thank you, Meredith."

"You're welcome. Now we'd better get going," she replied, stowing her tools.

Jack stood, pressing fingers to his nape to stem any further bleeding. Norrington gathered up their hard-worn shirts, shoes and socks. Just in case they were needed again.

As the three exited the cave, Norrington spared a thought to what the chip trackers might think about his and Jack's signals staying so close and stationary... he probably had given them reason to suspect he was more than Sparrow's devoted-if-incompetent bodyguard. Not that the opinion of those, individuals, was of any concern to him.

They waded through tide-risen water to the skiff. Mare picked her way to the helm while James untied the hawser, and both men pushed the boat clear of the rocks. Norrington leapt aboard, extending an arm to assist Jack.

But Sparrow had something else in mind. "Not quite yet, mate." Both hands moved to his waistband. "You may want to avert yer gaze fer a moment, Mare."

His jeans were off and tossed over the gunwale, and himself vanished headfirst into the surf, before the startled James could utter a syllable. But Norrington made his feelings known when the pirate's happily sputtering face re-emerged.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Sparrow?!"

"Jus' wanted ta wash off the last trance of that feculent gaol! You two can catch up." He launched into a powerful crawl stroke, heading straight out into misty ocean.

Chagrined, James growled, "My apologies for his infantile behavior."

But Meredith's expression was sympathetic, as she followed Jack's splashing progress. "No need, James. I understand how he feels."

It was a sharp reminder that much of this woman's history was still unknown to him. / Did you also get away from a situation so bad you'd rather not have any reminder of it? / Norrington pressed his lips, resolving to fill that gap in his knowledge, very soon.

In fact, there was a long string of inquiries he intended to make, pertaining to how Mare had known where to find them, and what equipment to bring. But first things first. The morning fog was starting to dissipate- they needed to get clear of this island before they lost that vital concealment.

James grabbed an oar to pole the boat around. "Where are we headed?"

"Ullapool. Where I rented this skiff, two weeks ago." Mare was checking the stern-mounted GPS unit.

Their bow was now pointed seaward. Jack was an impressively long distance ahead of them. / Exasperating rogue- making an spectacle of himself in the middle of a rescue! /

As Meredith reached to activate the motor, James turned to address her. "Do me a favor, will you? For just one minute, let's pretend we're not going to stop for him."


	9. Chapter 9

_'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney._

xxx

Norrington hadn't realized how much he'd missed being able to look the sky. His stare returned to it repeatedly: a high white-gray overcast, with one bright patch marking the sun's progress towards it's zenith.

Having a full stomach was most agreeable, too. He and Jack had frankly made pigs of themselves at breakfast, stuffing themselves with beef jerky, dried apricots, whole grain crackers, trail mix w/ M&Ms- food with actual flavor!

Sparrow hadn't even commented on the deficit of rum. Immediately after eating his fill he'd dropped off (he'd had an imperfect night's sleep.) The ex-pirate was currently bedded down in the skiff's forward section, curled under a tarp cover with his head pillowed on a folded poncho.

James was facing aft, towards the woman at the helm. Mare braced the tiller under one elbow as she slid one battery after another into her cellphone, to check if any of them worked. She'd packed phone and extra batteries into a plastic bag, but the bag had somehow fallen to the bottom of the boat, where sea water had seeped in and corroded all the terminals.

At the moment, that wasn't James' primary concern. He was still burning to know the history of this rescue, though he felt some reluctance to broach the subject. Bombarding Mare with questions might make him sound ungrateful. And, he was a bit leery about what the explanation could reveal about her. Too well, he remembered how it'd hurt the last time a woman unveiled an unsuspected side of herself.

At least there was nothing disagreeable about watching her. Mare had discarded her rain poncho, uncovering faded dungarees, forest-green sweater and matching watch cap. That color really set off her hair.

That fiery mane wasn't her only striking feature. Sparrow was correct; Meredith's looks had an equine quality, in the best possible way. She had the physique of a woman who worked out regularly, long muscular legs, and high cheekbones suggesting there could be Native Americans (as Red Indians were now called) among her ancestors. If the eyes were of ordinary size and color, the mouth somewhat thin-lipped for its width, the hands rather mannish... those just added a natural element which was more attractive than any accessory.

Mare truly was a beautiful woman.

A beautiful woman who was currently throwing down the last battery, grimacing with disgust. "That's it! We won't to be able to contact the authorities until we reach the mainland."

"Fortunately we'll be there in two days," James reminded. "And the culprits won't be able to flee easily, if they're who they appear to be."

The first thing Mare had done, once everybody was aboard and decent, was unfold a detailed map of the Outer Hebrides. The islet they'd been held on, and it's ancient castle, had long been the private property of a certain family of British nobles. When he'd read their name on the chart, Jack had cursed violently, swearing "that clan of pestilential popinjays" would never cease giving him trouble. James'd had to nudge him hard, before he said too much.

"Let's hope so." Mare stowed the useless phone into her belt pack, but her amused stare lingered on James. "You know, that's really not a bad look on you."

Norrington ran a hand over his scruffy chin. "I'm flattered you think so. But being this disheveled has some rather negative associations for me. Did you happen to have a razor on board?"

"'Afraid not. I had to pack in a hurry."

"And you did a most commendable job." Norrington had already made a brief inventory of their onboard supplies. Everything they needed most was aboard, including an ample store of diesel fuel.

"You could try shaving with the dissection knives, though I don't recommend doing that on a moving boat. But I'll be making a water-pickup stop before dark, on one of the nature-reserve islands. We can look for one with a stream wide enough for you and Jack to take a proper bath. I did bring a bar of soap."

"'Her worth is more than rubies,'" James quoted with a warm smile.

The moment was interrupted by a too-familiar moan from the bow. Norrington whirled- Jack was twitching under the tarp, in the grip of another bad dream.

The Commodore scrambled to kneel beside him, applying the usual balm of shoulder massage and soothing words. "Shhhh! You're all right. It's all over, Jack. You're safe, you'll be home soon. Hush now, hush..."

Sparrow soon calmed, becoming still and quiet again. James gave him a last affectionate pat on the cheek, before carefully returning to his bench.

"Jack has some problem with nightmares," he explained. "He had several when we were in, that place. I was locked in the next cell and couldn't reach him." It disturbed him to recall some of the things Sparrow had cried out on those occasions... but no point in burdening Mare with that. "They put us both through the wringer, but Jack definitely got the worst of it."

Meredith was regarding him rather fixedly. "May I ask a personal question?"

"You may."

"Do you love Jack?"

"Yes, in the sense that his happiness and well-being have become necessary to my own. My better judgment notwithstanding." Norrington almost sighed.

"I'll rephrase." She leaned forward. "Are you his past, present, or would-be future lover?"

James, who'd fielded similar inquiries from some Academy classmates, was less than shocked. It was, after all, no longer a hanging offense.

"'No' to all three, Mare. Though I can understand how you might get that impression. Jack has a fondness for tactile comfort which I'm willing to indulge on occasion." He discarded the notion of mentioning how closely Sparrow could mimic a needy house cat- it would just sound bizarre. "But as far as sexual gratification goes, all of my observations indicate he prefers women. As I definitely do."

Mare shifted. "I didn't mean to imply I'd think any less of you."

"Of course not. You needed to establish that, to have some idea where our own relationship might or might not go from here."

She shook her head admiringly. "My life would have been a lot less complicated if all men were as direct as you, James."

Norrington smiled again. He could hardly ask for a more opportune moment to turn the conversation towards the matter he was so curious about. Alas, he waited a second too long.

"By the way; where might you and Jack want to go after I return the skiff?"

That brought up a matter he'd postponed thinking about. "I need to get to New London as quickly as possible. I'm already very late taking my service oath- I can only hope it won't be regarded as grounds for discharge."

Mare was indignant. "You're late because you were kidnapped! How can they possibly hold that against you?"

"Luv, there's somethin' you need to understand about military organizations," came a voice from the bow. Jack moved to sit halfway up, leaning against the gunwale. "They tend to be very hard-nosed on the matter of desertion, whether confirmed or suspected. The burden of proof will be reversed- they won't be obliged to prove James went AWOL on purpose, James will be obligated to prove he didn't. An' once it's established he refused an opportunity to bolt, they're all too likely to contend he came along voluntarily."

Meredith looked to James, incredulous. "You couldn't leave out that one detail?"

"Now Mare, you know our honest Mr. Norrington better 'en that. If they ask him directly, he won't lie about it." Jack hoisted himself onto the aft bench. "And James, theers a more serious problem. Whatever the assessment of your culpability, they're definitely goin' ta require you to report this little incident to the authorities."

Norrington decided not to bother asking Sparrow how long he'd been listening in. "Of course we have to report it. Forcible abduction is a felony."

"Stop an' think, mate. The police'll be takin' statements from both of us, which'll include questions that are better left unasked. Particularly regarding our kidnappers' possible motives. Can you think of any way to describe our interrogations that won't throw suspicion on us?"

"That is likely to be, awkward," James admitted.

"To say the least! I know the very concept of abandoning post is anathema to you, cousin, but we're going ta have to seriously consider the option of jus' disappearing. It's easier 'en you might suppose. I've done it a score of times over the centuries."

"Jack...!" Norrington hissed, shooting a glance at the perplexed Mare.

Sparrow turned a coolly appraising look on her. "'Tis all right. No harm in lettin' the lass overhear."

James' heart skipped a beat. Surely Jack didn't mean...?

"If I hain't mistaken, Meredith Anne Chaucer- if that's her real name- has already had personal experience with such matters."

Mare started. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Sparrow's tone was deliberately mild. "I mean: it's been my impression, from the minute you stepped aboard the Lady Buccaneer, that you and Mr. Norrington have a singular singularity in common."

James looked to Mare, baffled. Though her jaw was set, she appeared relieved. "So you knew."

"Didn't quite know, lass. Strongly suspected. Havin' observed James fer an extended while, I've learned ta recognize the indicators that someone's not quite in theer natural time."

The realization hit James like a cold breaker. He stared at Mare as though seeing her for the first time. Which, in a way, he was.

"You aren't originally from this century, either." The explanation fell into place. "So you must be acquainted with Mr. Murphy. He once told me, if Jack got into serious trouble he'd try to help. He's the one who sent you to find us."

"Correct and correct." Meredith seemed glad to have it in the open. "Murphy's People, as I call them, took note when you two disembarked from your flight, but failed to check into your hotel. They- that is, their operatives, managed to access the records on all planes leaving between those intervals, and figure you'd been taken to the Hebrides. Murphy gave me that information, saying he was confident I could handle the situation from there. He'd been impressed by a couple missions I'd previously carried out for him."

Jack and James exchanged a look. There was more to this lady, indeed!

"I figured, the most likely place to conceal captives was on one of the privately owned islands, particularly those which had at least one sizable structure in place." She addressing James. "I recall telling you I'm competent with computers."

"So you have."

"Had I mentioned I'm particularly good at hacking?"

"No, you hadn't."

"Well, I am. I accessed a satellite-surveillance site to check images showing boat and airplane traffic around those several islands, to compare earlier and later images. Any place that'd just acquired new residents- willing or not- would need additional supply runs. I soon identified that one," she jerked her thumb aft, "as the Highest Probability locale. So I dropped everything, flew to Scotland, made my way to the northwest coast and rented this skiff. I've been cruising the vicinity of your island for over a week now. Anytime another boater asked, I explained I was a botany professor, collecting rock weed specimens to analyze for my doctoral thesis. Nothing unfeasible about that... in fact, it was partially true. It was my intent to collect a particular pair of specimens. And thanks to your eventual jailbreak, I succeeded!"

"Fer which you have the eternal gratitude of the specimens." Jack steepled his fingers and made a little bow.

"Indeed." James added, "You really didn't need to be afraid to tell me about your origins, Meredith."

"I didn't want you to get the wrong idea. I knew you'd probably figure out, my showing up on the Lady Buccaneer wasn't a coincidence." She took a breath. "Mr. Murphy advised me to take that cruise. And that's all he advised. Whatever else happened, happened naturally."

Norrington frowned slightly. "He didn't... suggest you dye your hair, did he?"

Her eyebrows arched. "No. And he'd have to give me a damned good reason to, before I would."

"It's unlikely he'd know your preferences in such detail, James. His people aren't mind readers." Jack made a dismissive finger flutter. "Doesn't seem like he committed much of an offense. No worse'en what matchmakin' friends an' relatives do every day."

"It might not have been matchmaking. Perhaps he simply wanted the three of us to connect, so we'd be better prepared to deal with this kind of... future contingency." Again, James felt that galling sense of being manipulated. Though, as it'd secured their safety, there were limits to how strenuously he could object.

Perhaps the special circumstances of his and Sparrow's lives made some such interference necessary. In which case he should probably just get used to the idea. It did offer certain compensations.

He addressed Mare without rancor. "How much has Murphy told you about us?"

"Just the basics. You were both seamen in the early eighteenth century. You, James, were 'fatally' wounded in some military action. You, Jack, located the Fountain of Youth- which, by the way, is a facility created and maintained by Murphy's People. They were impressed when you figured out, on your own, how to use it, so they've been keeping track of you ever since. Though it wasn't until a few years ago they decided you were responsible enough to consider recruiting. So Murphy asked you to do that identity-change job for him, in exchange for... well, I don't need to say."

The two men shared another glance. Norrington cleared his throat.

"Then you know how we originally became involved with these time travelers. Would it be permissible for you to reveal as much about yourself?"

"I've wanted to tell you for a while, James. But it's a long and somewhat incriminating story- complete disclosure should wait 'til we've got no other demands on our attention. Short version: I was facing an arranged marriage- a forced marriage, actually- to a very unworthy man."

Jack sniffed. "Seems like a large portion of the present female population ought to be transplanted wenches, then."

"There were special circumstances. This bastard had far worse intentions than anyone suspected, other than me. Certain of his plans were of concern to Murphy's People. They made themselves, and the full situation, known to me- I eliminated their problem, and mine. After which it was essential for me to get very far away. Murphy gave me a choice of eras to relocate to, I picked the one which would allow me the best chance of earning my own living. I was determined never to be in a situation of dependence, ever again!"

Her gray-blue eyes flashed. Looking to the Commodore, she continued more softly. "Understand; it's not that I never wanted another man in my life. But I needed to feel I had a choice about it. I still do."

Sparrow nodded. He could certainly understand that.

James was pondering. It had been a while since European woman had been subjected to arranged marriages, so Meredith's 'natural time' had to be a few centuries back. He wondered if she might possibly be related to the Chaucer.

Mare checked the GPS screen, adjusted the tiller. "Well. We should reach a suitable island before sunset. How would you guys feel about building a campfire to have a hot meal?"

"I'd feel fine about it!" Jack exclaimed eagerly.

"As would I," Norrington echoed, though his thoughts were elsewhere.

The skiff continued over gray sea. James took over when Mare tired of manning the tiller. The wind shifted, bringing chill air from the north, obliging them all to don the rain ponchos.

By early afternoon, the pearly sky was being darkened by more sullen clouds, as was Norrington's mood. He had no problem with Mare's unconventional history- as Jack said, it was a point they held in common.

The uncertainty about his future was another matter. Seated at the helm, skillfully negotiating the leaden waves, James kept envisioning the Coast Guard career he'd trained so hard for.

It was right for him. It was what he wanted.

And recent events might have put it beyond his reach.

**TBC...**


	10. Chapter 10

_'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney._

xxx

Jack hummed snatches of tune as he snapped dead boughs from the trees, those being the only dry timbers in this low forest. The Hebrides were pretty islands, albeit thoroughly damp. With every step his toes sank deep into wet moss- he found that infinitely preferable to tiled concrete.

The ex-pirate was reaching for a glistening gray branch, protruding from around a conifer, when he realized it was actually a deer-antler in velvet. A step to the side confirmed it was, in fact, still attached to the deer; a shaggy reddish stag. The animal studied him calmly, through liquid eyes as brown as his own, it's jaw moving horizontally to munch a leafy twig.

Sparrow raised a hand to tip an imaginary hat brim. "Hello, beastie."

The animal shook it's ears in an amiable manner, snorting politely. Having delivered that salutation, the stag turned and strode regally away, quickly vanishing among evergreen boughs.

Sparrow resumed harvesting firewood until he had an ample double arm load. He then collected three straightish green sticks, before gathering it all up and retraced his path to the beach.

Emerging from the forest eves, he paused to take in the seaside view. It was dusk; the mostly-cloudy sky had taken on a bronze tone, bestowing a metallic glitter on the waters below. A round mottled head broke the water's surface- a seal, regarding Jack in a friendly manner.

To his right came the clattering of a little brook, mostly hidden among chunky rocks. Several unseen birds called melodic greetings over the glowing-green strip of seaside vegetation. A gentle breeze caressed his face, bearing a fragrant offering of scents: salt spray, pine needles, a sweet whiff of wildflowers.

It seemed everything in or near the ocean was conveying it's gladness at seeing him free again.

Smiling, Jack continued to the campsite, on the gravel-strewn bank near the brook's intersection with the sea. Meredith was there, bending to remove something from their beached skiff. A meter-wide circle had been cleared on the sandy ground, outlined with stones. Sparrow set the firewood down beside this.

Mare approached with her own load: bagged foodstuffs, three ponchos to sit on, a packet of waxed matches and a red Swiss Army knife. She gave the sizable stack of branches an approving nod. "That's probably all we'll need."

The two squatted to start breaking up the fuel and arranging it in the circle's center. Small twigs for kindling made the base, with medium twigs atop those. The largest pieces were stacked to one side, to be added once the kindling was ablaze.

Jack noted in passing, it'd been a while since he'd kept company with a (non-aged) wench whom he was willing, and able, to regard as simply a friend. 'Twas a relaxing change.

They both grinned at the sounds of enthusiastic splashing beyond the stream side boulders. That was where the brook widened into a rocky basin, suitable for bathing. Sparrow had made use of it earlier, Mare had gone in second, now James was taking his turn.

"He must've had success shaving with the scalpels," Mare remarked. Both his friends had noted Norrington's glum mood earlier; it was good to hear him feeling better.

"No surprise it improved his disposition. We've been deprived of proper grooming facilities fer a soreful long time." Jack's smile drooped. "That whole dismal experience would've been exponentially worse, if I'd had to endure it on my onesies. I've considered telling him I'm glad he was there too. But I thought that might sound..."

"Go ahead and tell him- he'll know what you mean! It'll gratify him to know he could help," Mare urged. "James is an uncommonly altruistic man. I sensed that the first time I ever saw him, at the helm of the Lady Buccaneer. He was standing so straight in that uniform and wig, looking so... upright. A person you could entrust with your very soul."

Jack's mouth twitched. / Ol' Norrington did have that one sizable lapse, deliverin' the heart to Beckett. Though, in his defense, James had no idea what direful use His Shortness was plannin' ta put it to. An' it should count fer somethin' that James gave his all in penance. /

"Fer the most part, yes. A most trustworthy gent. 'Bit different from yer previous fiancé, I take it?"

"The very antithesis. That insidious bastard was... I don't want to get started on it." Mare cracked a few twigs with special ferocity, though she positioned them with her usual care. "That's enough kindling to light. Could I see those green sticks?"

As he handed them over, Jack remarked, "We're agreed that James Norrington is an admirable bloke. You may've also discerned he's the marryin' kind."

Mare, sharpening the end of a stick with the Swiss knife, gave him an alert but unoffended glance. "I have indeed discerned that."

"What he might not've made as clear, but what you should know, is that he's also yearnin' ta be a father."

Her expression twisted. "So I should ready myself to punch out a lot of kids?"

"No, luv. I'm bringin' it up because, if you've no willingness to take on parenthood, 'twould be a courtesy to let him know that now."

"While he still has time to look elsewhere."

"Or ta reconsider what he really wants most."

Her glare softened. Setting the completed skewer aside, she got to work on a second stick. "I suppose that is fair. 'No willingness' is an overstatement; I just don't want to feel like I'm being pressured into it. I'd want to be certain I was ready to give proper attention to a child." She glanced in the direction of the bathing area. "And since I've absolutely no desire to be a single mother, I'd have to be dead sure the father was a man who took his responsibilities seriously. Admittedly, I foresee no problems of that sort with James."

"We're of one opinion there, lass."

Mare examined the second skewer's point. "I will think about it. And I promise I'll straightforward with him."

"'Tis what he'd want, even if you can't give him the answer he'd prefer." Sparrow drew his knees against his chest. "The man's had his heart rent in two before, by a wench who weren't entirely honest with him. 'Twould hardly be my first choice ta see him go through that again."

"I have gotten the impression he's been hurt- he's so guarded at times. Did he... that is, is there anything I should know about it?"

"This occurred back in his natural time. James gave his devotion away prematurely, to a lass who weren't really right for him. Theer's somethin' else you must understand about our Mr. Norrington; overall he's uncommonly sharp, but he's got a blind spot when it comes ta matters of the heart. 'Tis a common failing!

"Still, I doubt he'd want you ta think badly of Liz... Elizabeth. They'd forgiven each other's trespasses by the time they parted. He understood she'd not been deliberately cruel- jus' thought she had ta keep a few things from him, to protect the whelp she did love. Liz could be bloody ruthless that way."

Mare paused in her whittling, regarding him keenly. "I take it she did something to you, too."

"She did. An' theer's a matter I don't want to get started on." Jack mirrored her look. "Tell me, Ms Chaucer, are you always able ta deduce so much more 'en what's been said plain?"

"Not always, but I seem to be a lot better than average at it. That 'special perception' played a role in the series of events which necessitated my relocation. But as I said, now's not the best time to relate it."

Sparrow elected to lighten the mood. "I know an admirable way ta do that, luv. When we reach Ullapool, we should locate some raucously cheerful tavern, order generous rounds of our favorite beverages, an' spill our stories in full."

Mare's lips quirked. "I'm amenable to doing so. But what about James? He's mentioned he's had some previous problems with alcoholism."

"Aye. He did fer a spell." Jack half-scowled, recalling the 'rumpot deckhand.' "Actually, he seems able ta keep it under control so long as he has a sense of purpose. 'Tis the elixir of life fer him."

"I've noticed that, also." Mare put down the completed third skewer, extracted a match from the tube, started picking the wax off. "It's why he's worked so hard, training for the Coast Guard. I've seen for myself how much that means to him. He'd endure any penalty for lateness- reduced rank, docked pay, public reprimand, whatever- before he'd give it up."

Jack looked away, eyeing the dimming sea. Mare scraped the match against a rock, cupped her hand to light the kindling.

"Think about this carefully, Jack: it might not be necessary for both you and James to disappear. What you might do instead, is slip away after we reach port. If James can honestly report the kidnappers were primarily interested in you, and that he doesn't know your current whereabouts, the questioning might stop there. He could resume his life where he left off, leaving you safe from those undesirable interrogations."

"Go underground on my own," Jack murmured, staring as the twigs caught fire. He would very much prefer to have Norrington's companionship in exile, but if it wasn't essential, it would be selfish to insist on it. Sparrow massaged his temples- had he learned to be a good enough friend, to give a friend up? 'If you love someone, set them free...'

"This won't mean you'll never see each other again," Mare assured. "You can manage to pay James a visit now and then, I'm sure. I'll assist with that, any way I'm able."

/ _An' she'll probably be in a position to do so._ / Jack was certain it was just a matter of time now, before James popped the question. Sparrow focused on adding larger sticks to the blaze, not wanting to think that far into the future.

Norrington chose that moment to reappear. The navyman- shaved, shampooed, and fully dressed- was still drying his hair with a small towel. Obviously feeling a lot better.

"I see the fire's ready- I hope the skewers are too! I haven't felt this hungry in years!"

James' happy mood was contagious. The three set to roasting strips of jerky; their only food items which were amenable to being impaled on sticks. But those were sufficient, since everything else tasted better accompanied by hot meat. Jack separated some M&Ms from the trail mix, let them melt atop a freshly barbecued jerky strip, and proclaimed the result to be delicious. James, after risking a taste, declared himself in agreement. Mare declined to offer a third opinion.

It was much easier to feel optimistic after the meal, watching the soft-edged gloaming dim the colors of the beautiful beach. / The important thing is we both got away, well an' whole. We'll find some satisfactory way ta deal w' the rest, / Jack resolved.

As night closed in, the three remained beside the fire, telling amusing anecdotes and teaching each other favorite songs. With some abruptness, James realized Mare was leaning against him, and his arm was encircling her shoulders. It had happened so naturally he'd barely noticed.

They all knew the firelight might attract a patrol boat, to inform them they couldn't camp in a nature preserve. No one was terribly disappointed when this failed to happen.

The fire gradually waned, letting the chill creep in. James decreed the sleeping arrangements: Meredith would use the beached skiff, while he and Jack bedded down under canvas on the beach. Sparrow teasingly protested this would make Mare jealous (of whom, he didn't specify.)

The embers gradually died as they all settled down, far more comfortably than the previous night. The overcast thinned a bit, letting a few stars peek through.

Jack asserted, the sky was also welcoming them back to the outside world.

xx

At sunrise the three packed up and disembarked, through a fog that persisted through midmorning. Mare navigated while James and Jack studied the map, picking a place to get off before Mare returned the skiff. As James pointed out, their aristocratic captors must have determined by now that their prisoners had escaped the island- obviously with outside aid. They could well be making phone calls to the mainland, inquiring about boats recently leased to outsiders. It would be prudent for Mare to show up at the Ullapool marina with no more people than she'd left with.

But it all threatened to become academic, when their outboard motor started to make noises which Jack likened to "a race horse with a wooden leg." Within an hour, both motor and skiff came to a halt. Three things were soon established: that none of them had any special expertise at this kind of repair, that the cell phone batteries hadn't recovered from their dunking, and that Mare, given adequate provocation, could curse as vividly as any pirate.

They dragged the motor into the helm bench, where James set to tinkering with it, hoping his studies of full-sized ship engines had some application here. Mare, who knew more about higher-tech devices, hovered to assist him as needed. Sparrow, who'd never had much affinity for machinery of any sort, retreated to the bow. He straddled the bench there, staring discontentedly into the mist... until he suddenly recoiled, gaping westward with alarm.

"Mates, if you can't fix that thing soon, we'd better set to rowing. There's a storm headin' this way!"

Mare eyed the calm, foggy water with skepticism. But Norrington had witnessed Jack's weather sense on previous journeys.

"Meredith, this is one ability of Jack's you can trust even if you don't understand it. He can detect the approach of a shark or dolphin before there's any visible sign. He can smell sea water a mile away and through a stone wall. And he always knows when a storm's approaching."

James redoubled his efforts to get some response from the treacherous outboard. The clanging of his manipulations disguised the new sound until it was quite close.

Mare heard it first. "James, stop! Listen to that!"

It was the chugging of another boat motor, approaching through the fog. The three stranded seafarers cut eyes, revealing mixed feelings. Undesirable as recapture was, it might be more survivable than facing a squall in the tiny skiff.

"Be ready for anything," Norrington instructed, as the newcomer gradually solidified in the mist. It appeared to be a fishing boat, with a coiled trawl net. Maybe twenty-five feet in length, faded blue in color. No crew visible other than the lone figure in the pilot house.

They watched, with both hope and trepidation, as the vessel drew near. James experienced a moment of déjà vu, as the pilot cut the engine and steered alongside. They could now read the name on the weathered bow; the _Weena_.

The skipper- a short man in a rumpled yellow mackintosh- stepped from the helm to the starboard railing, regarding them mildly.

"Hello, you lot." They all recognized that voice.

Jack answered first. "Hello, Mr. Murphy. Long time no see."

**TBC...**


	11. Chapter 11

'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney.

---

Murphy nodded approval at seeing three occupants in the boat. "Fine work, Ms Chaucer. My confidence in you was not misplaced." He focused on Jack. "Were you questioned about the source of your longevity?"

"Endlessly! After bein' injected with bloody noxious potions, more often 'en not."

"And did you reveal anything?"

Sparrow grinned slyly. "Yes, but they may've misunderstood me. I told 'em the story of Tantalus, over an' over!"

"An excellent deflective strategy." Murphy bestowed a brief smile, which Norrington hadn't seen before. But James' primary attention was on what Jack had said.

He knew the ancient myth of Tantalus. As punishment for offending the gods, the wretch was condemned to eternal thirst, standing in a pool of water which receded whenever he tried to drink from it. If the Aqua de Vida behaved in a similar way, that would account for it's legendary elusiveness.

It seemed Sparrow had figured out a way to get around that. Typical.

Murphy looked to James. "Are any of you in need of medical attention?"

"We've sustained no serious physical injuries, and seem to be detoxifying at a normal rate," Norrington answered, through set teeth. This was not the opportune moment to ask whether Murphy had known their enemies were poised to strike.

The pepper-haired man nodded, then regarded Meredith somberly. "I'm afraid I have bad news, Ms Chaucer. The driver's license you left with the boat rental has been stolen. Our operative arrived too late to prevent it."

Mare looked stricken. "I suppose that could only be for one reason."

"They'll have established your full identity by now. I am sorry."

The woman sagged. "I was getting tired of drawing anthropomorphized animals anyway." She bent to pull a well-stuffed duffel from beneath the middle bench. "I packed as advised-I can leave from here."

Norrington's viscera went cold. "Are you talking about relocating to another time?"

Though she looked unhappy, Mare's voice was firm. "I can hardly return to Orlando now. Or even Ullapool. There's no telling who might be waiting for me."

James' fists clenched on the edge of his seat. The prospect of a world without Meredith...

His anguish, though controlled, was obvious to Sparrow. The ex-pirate addressed Murphy. "Could you not send another bloke there, a bit earlier, to prevent said theft? I'd be willing ta volunteer me services."

"I'm afraid it's not like backtracking to the store to fetch a missed item, Jack. Time travel has a lot of ramifications. Meredith, perhaps you can explain."

"One of my missions ran into a similar problem," she sighed. "A time net leaves a sort of trail in it's wake, like a high-flying airplane does. If the trails get too close... Do you know what a short circuit is?"

Jack made a face. "I caused one o' those once. When two live electrical wires touch, theer's a bloody explosion of sparks an' all the lights go out."

"Something a lot more damaging occurs when net trails connect. That can result in a compacting of the time continuum, or even a hiatus- either could be disastrous! It'll be far less risky if I simply get out of reach."

Norrington bit his lips, wanting to protest loudly. Dammit, there had to be some other way to...!

Murphy was speaking again. "Nobody's going to be forced, but I would strongly recommend that you all do the same."

"What?" James hadn't thought about that. He looked to his companions. Jack seemed intrigued, and Mare... did he dare to interpret her expression as Hopeful?

"Consider this, James and Jack: during your captivity, your enemies must have taken tissue samples from you both, to chart your DNA. So they now possess a certain means of identifying you, regardless of where you go, or how well you disguise yourselves. You'll never be able to conceal yourselves completely... at least, not in this era. But they can't pursue you through time."

"He makes a good case, cousin," Sparrow chirped. The prospect of new adventures always perked his interest.

Norrington was finding it harder to contemplate abandoning his planned future. "Failing to take my service oath, as I'd agreed to do, is tantamount to deserting my post."

"James, it's irrational to hold yourself to blame for that. You never asked for any of this," Mare insisted.

Murphy regarded the navyman sympathetically. "It's your choice to make, Mr. Norrington. But tell me: what was your original motivation for wanting to join the Coast Guard?"

"To be of service. To protect law-abiding people from ocean hazards, and the depredations of criminals, drug smugglers, terrorists..."

"How would you feel about a position which involves defending the world from far more serious threats?"

It took James a moment to understand. "You mean, by working for you? Like...?" His stare migrated to Meredith.

Her eyes were dancing. "I'll bet you'll be great at it, James. It's challenging, it's different every time, and you'll be doing something that matters! You certainly won't have wasted your Academy training!"

Murphy addressed Sparrow. "I'm extending the same offer to you, Jack. Your have the necessary credentials, with your proven knack for thinking on your feet. Payment shall be made on a per-job basis. As you know, it's rather generous. To you, Meredith, I can offer promotion to senior operative. Your computer skills, and rare ability to discern motivations, are known quantities. In exchange for being 'on call', we can provide safe housing, wherever and whenever you might wish to reside."

"That is a most intriguing offer, sir. But I, for one, want to know more details." James grabbed the gunwale, as a largish wave rocked the skiff.

"Fair enough." Murphy glanced down at the chop now slapping the Weena's hull. "As we're on the edge of a rather formidable windstorm, I'd recommend you secure your craft to my stern and come aboard. I can tell you more while removing us from harm's way."

That made sense to everyone.

The Weena's below-deck stores included several brown crew sweaters, which James and Jack did not hesitate to commandeer. Their honorably-scarred trousers were still usable, but even Sparrow agreed their ragged shirts were ripe for retirement. Some scrounged-up deck boots were equally welcome; Norrington's walking shoes and Jack's toes had endured enough battering.

Meanwhile, Mare located the gallery and brewed hot coffee for everyone. Sparrow was far more delighted by the half-full bottle of rum she located in a cooler. When Murphy granted permission to polish it off, Jack looked ready to hug him.

Murphy himself remained at the helm, steering the fishing vessel away from the storm, his deceptively dull gaze fixed on the moderate waves. Finally his three guests, now refreshed and warmly clad, gathered in the pilot house. He flipped a small switch by the wheel, to keep their course straight, before turning to address them.

"First, I need to explain approximately who we are. I say 'approximately', because your species lacks the reference points which would allow any precise understanding of us. Your closest analogy might be angels, though only in the loosest sense. We are not directly concerned with the welfare of humankind, but rather, with the integrity of the timelines- those progressions of interrelated events which form the fabric of continuance. To put it in the simplest possible terms: we are charged with keeping the timelines safe... with protecting them from being impeded, interrupted, or misdirected from their ultimate destinations."

"Charged by whom?" James politely asked.

"By circumstance. It is very much in our own interest for the timelines to extend to their fullest possible length. As it happens, it's equally in the interest of all living beings.

"The great majority of the universe is empty space, which, having minimal power to affect anything else, requires no watching. Things are more precarious in the vicinity of stars and their gravitational fields, particularly those with orbiting bodies. Living planets- those inhabited by dynamic communities of organic organisms- are more perilous yet. And populations of sentient beings are the most destabilizing units in existence.

"But be assured, we harbor no wish to eliminate these units- quite the contrary. Your kind (unknowingly) exudes certain unique energies which are crucial to the total system. But such volatile singularities do need to be monitored, and occasionally manipulated, to control their potentially-negative effects on the timelines. Describing even the basic Hows and Whys would take hours, and you'd find much of it unfathomable, so I'll spare you that. Are you still with me?"

"Aye, but don't increase yer speed," Jack muttered.

"Suffice to say; we've been keeping tabs on your planet Earth since life first developed here. After your species evolved, we started to maintain a constant watch. From the days of your earliest civilizations, there's always been at least a few of us amongst you, disguised in your form. From the start, we've recruited human operatives to assist us with our work- a 'native' organism can interact within it's system in ways which we can not.

"The Aqua de Vida in Florida, and it's several counterparts on other continents, are our creations. Extended life and youth is a fringe benefit we offer to efficacious Operatives. Such individuals are exceptional; increasing their life spans, and thus their service time, is simply common sense.

"For the most part we've gone unnoticed, as we definitely prefer. My people have no desire to interfere with yours, beyond what's needed to guard the timelines. But certain of our manipulations do, occasionally, attract attention. Our activities have, at various times, been attributed to the Illuminadi, Free Masons, various Cabbalas and sorcerers, the Knights Templar, or extraterrestrials. Only a few individuals have ever come close to discerning our true nature. Most of those subsequently started working for us."

"And the others?" Mare inquired.

"We do not systematically assassinate them. There are less-disruptive methods of preventing disclosure," Murphy answered mildly. "I can not claim we've always been able to avoid loss of life, but we do try to keep it to a minimum, for both practical and ethical reasons."

The three humans cut eyes. None of them were in the best position to chide.

Norrington cleared his throat. "Can you tell us how many of your people are currently residing on this planet?"

"Twenty three, at the present moment. Each one oversees an ever-changing number of Operatives- the Fountains only slow the rate of turnover. Some candidates do just a few assignments before deciding this job isn't for them. Many who graduate to senior status eventually get their fill and 'retire'. Some few refuse the water, so die after a natural life span. And a certain number are lost in the line of duty. This work is not risk-free. We have always had opponents, some of them far less restrained than your kidnappers. For this reason, we limit contact between the groups, following the pattern of many underground human organizations."

Jack caught on at once. "So that, if a member is caught by hostile forces, theer's a limit to how many others they can betray."

"Exactly. If you decide to join, you shall become members of my supervised cell. I'll be in charge of giving you your assignments. Some can be carried out individually, others will require a team effort."

"'Your mission, should you choose to accept it'," Mare quoted.

"That is a valid comparison," Murphy agreed. Jack understood the ref, James made his usual mental note to look it up.

Sparrow turned bright eyes onto Norrington. "It's a lot better 'en what we've been contemplating, cousin! We'll get to work together- no need ta separate, or go inta hiding."

"That aspect has appeal, I don't deny. But this job involves taking orders, and I was under the impression you don't care for that."

Mare interjected. "Actually, James, there's usually no supervision beyond the basic assignment. How we carry it out is left pretty much to us."

"I'm willin' ta do that, in exchange fer sufficient shine."

Murphy cut in smoothly. "There is one thing I need to emphasize. Keeping to the Mission parameters will be vital, because the apparent Best Course is sometimes no such thing. Have any of you seen 'The Butterfly Effect'?"

"I recall watchin' a trailer fer that flick in a theater," responded Jack. "Looked like it was about some poor blighter who discovers a method of time travel, an' gets no joy from it."

"Certain of our Operatives helped to produce that movie, for use as a training film. The protagonist makes repeated trips to his own past, trying to undo the harm caused by his youthful mistakes. But every time he does, something even worse results.

"This is why we don't necessarily make changes which, on the surface, seem beneficial- we do not thwart every presidential assassination, or prevent the rise of every genocidal dictator. My people possess means of determining which sequences of events will allow the smoothest continuation of the timelines, and it's from these that we derive our instructions. You will not have any involvement with that part of the process- you couldn't if you wanted to. It's simply a fact that, as humans, you do not possess the requisite mental development, any more than you possess a bird's capacity to fly."

Norrington's eyes narrowed. "So we shall simply have to trust you, when you tell us an action will have good results. Even if it seems morally questionable."

Murphy met his gaze squarely. "That is correct, James. Anytime you ask why a Mission is necessary, I will give you an answer. But how I know a thing is so, is a matter you can only take my word for. Or not."

"What if I, or any of us, were to refuse an assignment we consider wrong?"

"You shall never be forced. But I'd hope that, with experience, you'll learn to trust our judgment." These words, though softly spoken, were iron-hard. Norrington dropped his eyes.

Murphy returned attention to his steering. "So, that's our offer. You have the rest of this day to think it over. We should reach the Scottish mainland by evening. Anybody who wants may disembark there, with sufficient funds to go wherever they want." He reached into his mackintosh pocket, pulling forth a large wad of bills. "The decision is entirely yours."

For a minute, the was no sound but the humming chug-chug of the engines. Sparrow's eyes darted about, restless as his namesake. Meredith seemed calmly expectant.

James found himself examining the sea. They had outrun both mist and storm- all the darker clouds were to aft. The forward sky was blue streaked, denoted calm waters. It should be safe to ride in the towed skiff.

Both his companions were looking to him, conveying permission to speak on their behalf. Norrington leaned into Murphy's line of vision.

"Sir, may we please adjourn our own boat, to discuss this among ourselves?"

"You may." Murphy slowed the engine, gestured towards the tethered craft. "Just signal with an arm wave when you're ready to come back aboard."

---


	12. Chapter 12

_'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney._

_xxx  
_

The three recruits settled near the center of the skiff, Jack and Mare in the middle bench, James facing them on the bow. The craft bounced a bit on the semi-rough sea- they ignored this.

James brought the meeting to order. "All right: let's start by reviewing which facts we can be certain of."

Jack touched his jaw. "Well, Mr. Descartes was of the opinion that..."

"It's time to get serious, Sparrow. What do we know for sure about Murphy's People?"

"That they have the capacity of time travel. And that all three of us are better off for it," replied Meredith.

"That first item is certain, the second seems to be. But there's a possibility we should keep in mind: they might have allowed these events to happen- possibly even engineered them- for the express purpose of putting us in a situation where we'd be inclined to accept this offer to work for them."

"You'll have to include me in that conspiracy theory," Mare pointed out. "If there is such a plot, I can hardly avoid being a cog in it."

Norrington straightened. "In regards to your role, I am going to make a leap of faith: I believe both of you wish me well. And I hope you're able to believe the same of me."

"Aye, ol' Commodore. You've provided ample evidence fer that," Jack assured.

Mare nodded. "I haven't known you as long, but I have confidence in my assessments."

"So, we've established we trust each other. Now let's consider Mr. Murphy, and his claims of championing a benevolent effort. Do we have any evidence, beyond the man's word, that his people really do mean our world well?"

Meredith brushed a stray lock from her face. "Only that, so far, none of the Missions I've done for them involved anything disreputable."

"The key words may be 'so far'. What might they ask you to do next?"

Sparrow cut in. "Before makin' answer, I think the lass is entitled ta know yer reason fer askin'." The ex-pirate addressed Mare. "Mr. Norrington once accepted a position without proper prior scrutinizin' of his employer- an oversight he came to regret mightily. Said regret was directly relevant to that incident where he got spindled."

Mare looked to the navyman for confirmation. He nodded grimly. "Once burnt, twice shy."

"Well, James, when it comes to judging their intent, I have to give more weight to actual experiences than theoretical ones. To date, I've not had any sense their motives are unworthy. And you know I've got a knack for that."

Norrington did know. On the occasions when she'd visited him at the academy, she'd made accurate assessments of several of his classmates based on brief conversations with them.

"I've done only that one job fer Mr. Murphy's crew, but I can say this fer 'em: they delivered the agreed-upon payment. 'Can't see that you have any cause fer complaint about that." Jack aimed a pointed look just below James' sternum.

Norrington's hand moved to the same spot. He could feel the seamed scar, even through woolen fabric. "Indeed I do not," he acknowledged.

Mare bent forward. "So, what does the evidence indicate?"

James mulled that over. "If the presumption of innocence applies here, we have no grounds to impugn their motives. If their intent is no worse than claimed, then it shall be no dishonor to act as their Operatives. Now we need to discuss an addition matter: our own motivations for being inclined to do so."

"Shelter from exposure, a generous salary, unique fringe benefits," Mare responded.

"High probability fer interestin' experiences. And we'll be workin' on the same side fer a change," Jack piped up. "Not that bad prospect, eh?"

Norrington studied each of his friends in turn. "So you both want to do this?"

"Aye, but only if you're coming along." Sparrow regarded James with puppy-dog eyes.

"I'd much rather you would, too," Mare agreed. "Now it's your turn to tell, James: what would be your motive?"

Norrington answered quietly. "You've both just said it."

Jack grinned triumphantly. "I knew you'd warm up ta me!"

Mare seemed thoroughly gratified. "We're in accord, then. We're joining this secret society of Time Travelers."

"So it would seem," James stated. "Sparrow, please signal Murphy to let us come back aboard."

The pirate got to his feet, waving his arms like an eager windmill. Seconds later, the _Weena_ began to slow.

Jack grabbed the tether and started hauling. Norrington slumped, bracing his forehead against his palms. "And my life takes yet another bizarre turn."

Mare moved to snuggle against him, grinning like a schoolgirl who'd gotten away with something. "At least you won't be taking this one by yourself."

x

The threesome clamored back aboard, crossing the deck to the pilot house. The air temperature had risen during their interval in the skiff. Murphy had discarded his mackintosh and was now sporting gray sweats.

The short man resumed speed before turning to carefully scrutinize each face. Those told him everything he needed to know.

"So, you're all in."

"Yes."

"Aye, mate."

"We've discussed it- we're sure."

Murphy grunted, spinning the steering wheel 110 degrees. "Then we've no need to go to the mainland." He drew a Blackberry from his pants pocket, typed for a minute. "There's a suitable area to activate the net, forty minutes southwest of here. Far removed from any previous trails. An adequate jump should be..." more typing, "... seven years into the future. The monied dowager who orchestrated your kidnapping shall be dead old age."

"Better 'en she deserves." Sparrow's eyes flashing dangerously.

Murphy's tone was mild but adamant. "We have a policy against expending resources on retaliation. I'd advise you to subscribe to the adage that living well is the best revenge."

Jack glowered, but said no more. Murphy was the Captain here.

"What about her heirs?" wondered Mare.

"As there's been no trace of you for seven years, they probably concluded your escape boat went down in the storm, so quit the hunt. At the very least there's a sizable gap in your trail."

James noticed the man was speaking of future events in the past tense- something he supposed he'd have get used to. Time travelers operated on a separate schedule.

Jack, having set aside any vengeance concerns, was tapping his chin. "Speaking of living well: how about we make Capri our arrival point? My villa there should provide a safe haven. I've taken steps ta prevent any tracing of ownership to meself."

Murphy looked to Norrington and Meredith. "Are you agreeable to that?"

James envisioned spending weeks aboard this cramped fishing vessel. "We'll need a bigger boat for that trip. From Scotland to Italy will take..."

"... just one minute, by time net," Mare informed him. "It transverses physical distance as well as time. We can count on arriving at Capri in time for dinner."

"Oh. Then I'm entirely agreeable."

Murphy nodded, his main attention on the Blackberry's screen. "Let's see... seven years and ninety minutes from now, there'll be a clear and usable area of ocean eighty kilometers south-southwest of the Marina Piccola. If you're all satisfied with that destination, I can set the coordinates now."

Sparrow fidgeted. "Mr. Murphy, I wondered if we might possibly make one tiny little side trip first? Theer's a certain mailed item I'd very much like to retrieve."

"Already taken care of. During your previous ransacking of the hold, you may have noticed a couple boxes wrapped in garbage bags."

"I did notice!" Jack bolted for the hatch. James cut eyes with Mare before following.

When he caught up, Sparrow was yanking the aforementioned boxes from a floor-level storage compartment. One of the black-shrouded containers was of a size and shape to hold an air conditioner, the other was much more linear.

Jack tore the plastic from both, grinning delightedly as he identified the handwritten addresses. He threw arms around the squarer box, exclaiming, "Contents of my hurricane safe, James!"

"Including my wig?"

Sparrow scowled a bit. "'Course not- I left instructions fer Mrs. Boyer ta pack every item except yer wig! Daft Navyman!"

James eyed the the long box hopefully. "And this?"

"Your sword. Accompanied by my katana." Jack pushed said box to check the weight. "An' my narwhal tusk is probably in there, too!"

Norrington felt disproportionately grateful. "You planned this well."

"I've had plentiful practice, mate. This is hardly the first time I've had ta scarper on short notice." James helped him re-stow the boxes before they returned topside.

Murphy, still at the helm, requested he be left undisturbed to operate the boat's special controls. "Preparing a time net for launch takes some doing. This is advanced physics, not magic. We can't do it by waving a wand."

Mare was seated at the stern, going through the bag of foodstuffs she'd brought from the skiff. To everyone's delight, that included a slightly battered packet of shortbread cookies. "I was going to bring these out when we reached Ullapool, but since we aren't going there after all..."

The three divided up and ate the broken pieces. Sparrow and Norrington were still happy just to be back in open air.

James couldn't help thinking back to that pleasant little Caribbean islet, with all it's treasures. "You're sure you're okay with leaving so much behind?"

"I've long since made stipulations," Jack answered, expelling a few shortbread crumbs. "'Left my will in the custody of the trustworthy Boyers, to be opened should I go missin' fer over three weeks. They'll get the island an' house- I imagine they'll sell it an' use the money to set themselves up someplace nice, in addition ta sending all their kids to college. My previous housekeeper, Tituba, gets my bank account. She'll likely move her family to Hawaii, as she's long wanted to. The _Charming Murderess_ shall pass into the ownership of Garnet an' Gus McMann, the _Lady Buccaneer_ to Educational Cruises Inc. My stock portfolio goes ta sundry worthy organizations. My London townhouse has been left to a city preservationist society. They'll take proper care of it, until I'm in position to buy it again.

"But I've not disposed of all my assets! There's enough tucked away to assure we won't be paupers. I know the location of two untouched wrecks that went down with plenty o' shine. My Geneva bank vault is under trust ownership, as is my Capri property- I left a tidy fund in escrow ta cover the property taxes an' maintenance into perpetuity. It's an admirable dwelling!" Jack waved his hands enthusiastically. "Marble balcony on the south side, with a splendiferous ocean view. To the north, an outdoor jacuzzi with mosaic lining- all different shades of blue. Lovely place to bask in the evening. If you like to swim before or after a soak, theer's a stairway leading directly from the deck to a bonnie little cove w' sand beach. Well-equipped kitchen, spacious living room with suede furnishings an' a plasma TV. Three bedrooms- one's currently housing my seashell collection, but the other two have every amenity you might want. An' the additional advantage o' being at opposite ends of the house. In short..." There was that impish eye gleam which always put Norrington on his guard, "...a most excellent facility fer honeymooning!"

To James' dismay, Mare was intrigued. "That's a generous offer, Jack. Only, I don't think we're in position to organize a proper wedding."

"Not ta worry, lass. If yer wantin' a ceremony with all the frills- cake, gown, flowers an' a free wet bar- that can be arranged later. But as we've got a witness," he nodded towards Murphy's silhouette, "and as I'm a certified Captain, I can make you legal enough to begin your post-nuptials with a clear conscience. I could perform a marr-i-age right here, right on this deck, right now."

Norrington, who recognized the wording, growled "You're a certified something!"

Mare, who didn't, mulled it over. Looking to her man, she inquired, "Would you like to do that, James?"

For her sake, Norrington suppressed his ire. "I would be happy to... that is, to consider becoming your husband. However, this is another decision we shouldn't make on impulse. We need to give it careful thought."

"Oh, I agree! And I'll bet you have. Given it thought, I mean."

"Admittedly I have, particularly over these past two days. But we need to know more about each other. Specifically, whether our life goals are compatible."

"Agreed, again. And I can reveal this: after due consideration, I've decided I would like to have at least one child."

Norrington started, then shot Sparrow an accusing look.

"No cause to be angry at him, James. You would've had a hard time informing me of your preference without sounding like you were... setting conditions. So it's just as well someone else told me that you want to be a father." With a engaging tilt of the head, Mare added, "But I hope you don't mind if we wait a year or two? I'd like us to have some time as a couple first."

Jack chirped in. "That won't be a problem, luv! I keep a stock of condoms at the villa, an' I happen ta know me an' Mr. Norrington take the same size. Ah, cousin, fumin' really brings out the color in your cheeks!"

"That's enough dabbling in our personal lives, Sparrow," James snapped. "Mare, on this matter, I'm quite willing to defer to your wishes."

"Aye, lad- you'd better get used ta that!" quipped Jack .

Norrington had had quite enough. "Ms Chaucer, if you don't mind, I'd prefer to suspend this conversation until we've adjourned to a more private location."

x

"He's a total scamp, isn't he?" Mare noted, seating herself on the skiff's middle bench.

"To put it diplomatically." James played out the hawser to it's fullest length, before taking his place beside her. "Now that we're beyond hearing of that pest, I'll try to do this properly." He looked searchingly to either side of the bench.

"Is something wrong?"

"I'm just making sure you're in no danger of falling off." Satisfied, he took Mare's hand between his palms, regarded her face appreciatively. The headwind was blowing her coppery mane around, underscoring her natural, somewhat roughhewn, beauty. This woman might not be entirely a lady, but he could live with that. He might even prefer it.

"Meredith Anne Chaucer, will you marry me?"

"Yes I will, James Lysander Norrington." She tossed her head like a pleased horse.

"Are you quite sure?"

Mare draped both arms over his shoulders, bringing her nose within an inch of his. "I'm sure. Because I don't believe I'm ever going to do better."

James glanced down. "I'm hardy perfect, Mare."

"Neither am I. Still, you're as honorable a man as I'm ever likely to meet."

Norrington lifted his eyes to hers, grinning shyly. "Very well. How soon would you want to...?"

"We should tell each other our full biographies first. Just to be safe."

"I can't imagine many things which would lower my opinion of you, Mare. I myself have been responsible for the deaths of several despicable men. I can hardly hold you to blame, if you've done something similar."

"Good to know that." For a second she also dropped her gaze, looking haunted. "Well... Once we've taken care of that, I have heard favorable reports about Capri. The Blue Grotto is supposed to be gorgeous!"

"I've heard things, too. As you wish, then! There are several churches on the island, if you'd prefer to have the ceremony conducted by someone other than a former pirate captain."

Surprised, she glanced towards the _Weena_, but Jack had apparently gone below. "Was he really?"

"He won't shy from confirming it. In fairness, I should add that he wasn't particularly violent, by pirate standards. Captain Jack Sparrow always preferred to rely on cunning."

"Even at that, I think you tattled 'cause you're currently annoyed with him."

"Do you blame me? That insolent knave can be exasperating beyond all powers of endurance!"

"And yet, you stayed with him when he needed you most." Her tone was frankly admiring.

"He has his redeeming qualities, too," James admitted. "But getting back to matters of actual importance: is there anything you particularly wanted to know about me?"

Mare's eye twinkled. "What's your favorite color?"

"Burgundy red. Anything more personal?"

"A couple things, but those can wait until our wedding night. You know, Jack is right; blushing does become you." Getting serious, she added, "And is there anything you especially want to know about me? That I can answer briefly?"

"There is. You said you've worked for Murphy's People for a while. Have they ever offered to let you the use the Aqua de Vida?"

"Yes, but I haven't decided whether to accept. It's a 'point of no return', isn't it?" Her blue-gray eyes became distant. "That'll be a huge difference... living in a world which will change around us. Of all people on earth, only we will live to see the conclusion of every decision; the benefit of every good choice, the price of every mistake. Taking that first dose will be comparable to... well, stepping into 'The Odyssey'."

James' brows arched. "Interesting comparison- 'The Odyssey' is a personal favorite of mine. Particularly the ending."

"When Odysseus massacres all the suitors?"

"After that. When he's reunited with his beloved."

"Mmm. You do know, there's a theory he soon resumed his wanderings. He'd become so accustomed to living that way he couldn't stop."

"I prefer to believe he remained happily at home."

"And I prefer a third alternative."

James lifted an eyebrow. "Which is...?"

"His Missis told him she was tried of sitting around the house weaving- she wanted travel and adventures, too. So they left Telemachus in charge of their estate and sailed off together."

"For how long?"

"For as long as they both wanted to. Which was a good while, thanks to a certain Fountain they happened upon."

"Oh, did they! Is this your way of suggesting we should do the same?"

"We should seriously consider it. I suspect Jack favors the idea."

"I know he does. So... you want to take that epic plunge together?"

Mare grinned again. "If we have a reasonable shot at a happy ending."

James leaned closer. "I'll do my best to give you one, dearest Meredith."

And their lips met.

x

Jack, emerging from the hold with a lumpy garbage bag in hand, looked over the bow to see Mr. Norrington and Ms Chaucer in a passionate clinch, windblown hair mingling like red and brown flames. Sparrow grinned with approval. James certainly deserved to find a woman capable of eclipsing his last regrets about Elizabeth.

The ex-pirate lowered himself onto the aft bench, folding his arms over one bent knee, and resting his chin there. Pondering.

Though they were somewhat alien to him, Jack acknowledged that monogamists existed. Certain people really did seem willing and able to spend a lifetime with one sexual partner... or if they did stray, always wound up circling back. If marriage was a contest to see who would fall out of love first, there were the occasional examples which ended in a tie.

Will and Liz had been the first such couple he'd observed for an extended period. Over the centuries he'd encountered a few more. Enough to recognize the indicators. He was 93% sure James and Mare were going to be another.

The aforementioned pair drew a little apart, laughing hysterically over some tiny witticism one or the other had said. Watching, Jack experienced just a twinge of envy.

"What's that quote regarding Peter Pan? 'He had ecstasies innumerable that other children can never know; but he was looking through the window at the one joy from which he must forever be barred.' Except it's far too soon ta be sure of that. Forever's a long time!"

Sparrow occasionally tried to imagine what manner of woman could possibly captivate him permanently, for there were moments when he found that prospect unobjectionable. Particularly when looking upon a couple who, indications were, had the capacity to enjoy each other's company indefinitely. And he shouldn't begrudge that. Not for a friend (or two.) The stuffy Commodore was the staunchest friend he'd ever had- the git had proved that beyond any trace of a shadow of a doubt, though their weeks of mutual captivity.

Mare was also running up points in his fondness index. All to the good, if the three of them were going to be performing Missions together.

Jack grinned in anticipation. Having adventures alongside James was exactly what he'd most hoped for, back when he'd negotiated the navyman's resurrection. If that hope was now going to be fulfilled, their whole miserable ordeal just may have been worth it.

The _Weena's_ engines shifted to neutral. Murphy briefly stepped from the helm. "I'm preparing to activate the net. Better haul your friends in now."

"Aye aye!" Jack set to pulling on the hawser. James and Mare soon climbed back aboard, arms tangled about each other, still laughing.

"That interval seems to've had a most favorable effect on yer disposition, cousin! Perhaps you ought to spend every trip in a towed skiff."

"Maybe, you scoundrel." James felt too good to resent Jack's previous teasing, though he did give the offender a retaliatory hair tousle.

Sparrow scowled good-naturedly as he tugged his dreds back into place. "In commemoration of the occasion, I've unpacked a few items." He fished into his jeans' pocket, pressed a small dense object into James' palm. It was a heavy gold ring, with a large oblong amethyst set flush with the band. "Your intended deserves an engagement ring. Don't be afeared ta use this- it's had repeated washings."

James studied the offering. "Didn't you use to wear this one, back in...?"

"Yes, but I can have a duplicate made. Go on, lad. It should fit- her hands're the same size as mine."

Norrington obediently took Mare's left wrist and slipped the gleaming circlet onto her ring finger. It was indeed the right size.

Meredith turned her hand front and back, eyes alight. "I don't wear much jewelry, but I'll make an exception for this. Thank you, Jack!"

"Yer most welcome, luv. An' fer yer pompous fiancé..." Sparrow extracted the white naval wig from the bag. Norrington reached to take it, but Mare grabbed it first. "Here- let me!"

James bowed his neck, smiling, as Mare carefully positioned the wig on his head. She tugged the side curls into place, taking pains to tuck away every stray hair. "There. Just like the first time I saw you," she pronounced, giving it a final pat.

Jack tipped his head like a saucy bird. "Still makes him look like an ice cream!"

"I appreciate quality ice cream," Mare countered haughtily.

Norrington noticed the garbage bag still sported a bulge. "And what have you brought up for yourself, Sparrow?"

"What else!" Jack drew forth his old leather tricorne and donned it, grinning roguishly. "Jus' thought our embarkment into a new life ought ta include a tribute to our first one."

Right on cue, Mr. Murphy called from the pilot house. "I'm activating the net now!"

Without a sound, a shimmering white miasma appear in midair, about ten meters in front of the _Weena's_ bow. It quickly expanded to twice the width of their boat, then went concave, forming a brilliant tunnel.

Mindful that James had never witnessed this before, Mare squeezed his arm reassuringly. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"It certainly is," Norrington replied, transfixed by the spectacle. The translucent substance bore resemblance to a densely layered spider's web, formed of a billion silk-fine strands. He wondered if distant views of these things might account for some reported sightings of ghosts.

The engine noise increased as the _Weena_ started forward, chugged straight towards the glowing structure.

"Next stop, the Mediterranean!" Impatient to see it, Jack hastened around the pilot house to the bow. His companions followed, hand in hand.

Sparrow planted one boot on the bowsprit and leaned forward, mimicking a figurehead's graceful curve. James and Mare stood just behind him. Three enraptured faces lifted to meet the looming archway, and the challenges which lay beyond.

Mare's hand moved in Norrington's- he could feel the press of her new ring. "Not alone, James," she whispered.

He returned the clasp. No, not alone. Perhaps he never would be again.

The dazzling whiteness engulfed them. Jack Sparrow threw his head back, gold teeth glinting like tiny suns, and broke into that spirited song he'd taught them last eve- the one he'd always associate with regained horizons:

_"Yo Ho, Yo Ho, a pirate's life for me!_  
_We kindle and char, inflame and ignite,_  
_Drink up, me 'hearties, Yo Ho!_  
_We burn up the city, we're really a fright!_  
_Drink up, me 'hearties, Yo Ho!"_

Meredith eagerly joined in. A moment later, so did James:

_"We're rascals, scoundrels, villains, and knaves,_  
_Drink up, me 'hearties, Yo Ho!_  
_We're devils and black sheep, really bad eggs,_  
_Drink up, me 'hearties, Yo Ho!"_

The _Weena_ was now illuminated from bow to stern. The three sang at the top of their lungs:

_"Yo Ho, Yo Ho, a pirate's life for me!_  
_We're beggars and blighters, ne'er-do-well cads,_  
_Drink up, me 'hearties, Yo Ho!_  
_Aye, but we're loved by our Mums and our Das,_  
_Drink up, me 'hearties, Yo Ho!_

_"Yo Ho, Yo Ho, a pirate's life for me...!"_

The last centimeter of the towed skiff passed into the tunnel. The light shuddered and collapsed on itself, leaving only an empty gray sea.

Seven years later and thousands of miles away, a sunny blue patch of ocean suddenly became much noisier.

_"... Drink up, me 'hearties, Yo Ho!"_

xxx

TBC...


	13. Epilogue

'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney.

---

**EPILOGUE**

Three Years Later, Linear Time

-

Signore Jack Sparrow, with his beaded dredlocks and strutting walk, had become a familiar figure among the narrow, sloped streets of western Capri. Less familiar was the swath of floral perfume he was currently leaving in his wake. It's source was the gift he carried; a large etched-gourd vase, filled with sprigs of small white blossoms. He knew Meredith Norrington preferred strong-scented flowers.

Turning off the public street, he approached his villa's northern entrance, almost reaching for a nonexistent doorknob before he remembered. Chuckling at his lapse, he pressed his palm to the adjacent hand scanner. The big mahogany portal slid aside, and he stepped into the wide entrance hall. Almost at once, he found himself confronting an alert gray-and-tan canine.

"Afternoon, Royal." Sparrow reached to pat the shaggy head, but the animal was unusually wary, sniffing suspiciously at Jack's stained trouser cuffs. "That, lad, is the odor of jaguar. Word of advice: if you ever encounter that in a wilderness setting, give it a wide berth. Now where's that no-good owner of yours?"

The no-good owner rushed in from around the corner. James looked just as anticipated: rumpled, unshaven, and deliriously happy. Very reminiscent of William right after Liz had birthed her twins.

"Jack! We didn't expect you home so soon!" exclaimed Norrington, giving his friend and colleague a fast embrace.

"Surely you didn't think I'd linger over any Mission when me two best mates were about ta have a blessed event!" Sparrow returned a one-armed hug (the other being needed to clutch the vase.) "So how did your gallant lady fare?"

"I think she took less damage than I did." James ran a hand through his mussed hair, embarrassed at the reminder, but still happy.

"I'd expect no less of our Fair Mare." Jack rocked on his heels. "Well, when do I get ta meet the new arrival?"

Norrington came back to himself. "Right now would be... wait, let me check first. Mare might be nursing..."

"I'm not! Come on in, Jack!" that personage called from the northside bedroom.

Both men hurried in. The dog followed close at their heels.

Meredith, wearing a green terry robe, was in bed, propped up by lovingly arranged pillows. Her hair was fastened atop her head, and she looked tired, though no more than after the Prague Mission. But her smile was brilliant as sunshine, bestowed upon the impossibly small bundle in her arms.

As the men approached, she turned said bundle to show the round-eyed little face, still a bit squashed, among the folds of yellow blanket.

Royal resumed his position, sitting alertly beside the bed. Obviously a self-appointed guardian.

"I brought you a souvenir from Martinique." Jack extended the bouquet. "Some folk there contend that inhaling jasmine scent has beneficial effects on a newborn. An' I'm familiar with yer own likings."

Mare was delighted. "How thoughtful of you! James, would you find someplace to put that?"

Norrington obligingly positioned the vase on an open windowsill. The incoming breeze quickly distributed the fragrance throughout the room. Even the dog sniffed appreciatively.

James reclined blissfully on the bed, close to his wife- to judge from the creased state of the sheets, he'd been there for a while. The navyman extended one finger, to gently touch the tiny chin. "Have you ever seen a more beautiful baby?"

"Never, cousin. So... do I tell him he's a comely lad, or her she's a bonnie lass?"

"The latter. Would you like to hold her?" Mare offered.

"Aye! If you think she won't mind."

Royal's scruffy ears pricked, as Sparrow extended his arms. Only when the transfer concluded without incident did the dog relax.

The infant made no protest, just stared up in wonder at the man with the shiny teeth. Jack cradled the little one against his chest, studying her with equal interest. Particularly the wispy copper forelock, and emerald pupils.

"You got yer Mum's bonnie hair, and yer Da's green eyes. A savvy choice, whelpling!" The proud parents beamed from the bed, fingers intertwined as usual. "Have you decided on a name yet?"

James and Meredith glanced smugly at each other, answered in chorus.

"Lysander."

The babe's mouth opened, emitting a pleased-sounding gurgle. Royal's feathery tail thumped against the carpet.

"Lysander," Jack repeated, grinning. "That's a name and a half ta live up to, lass. But with such parentage, I expect you'll do it justice."

---

**THE END**


End file.
